


you and the night and the music

by eyeronicmuch



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pianist, Character Study, M/M, Pining, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight enemies to lovers, Slow Burn, ambiguous setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeronicmuch/pseuds/eyeronicmuch
Summary: Sicheng is perfect. He’s the best pianist of the generation. He’s a prodigy. A wunderkind. One might say he’s absolute. He sells out every concert and wins every competition, so when Jaehyun shows up in his music room and tells him he’s lacking, Sicheng doesn’t know what to feel.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, slight Yuta/Sicheng
Comments: 47
Kudos: 175





	you and the night and the music

**Author's Note:**

> am i really me if i don’t write about music one way or another ksdjdjd this is like all over the place so i’m sorry in advance
> 
> also just a heads up i have a very vague understanding of how piano competitions work so please excuse me for any inaccuracies

Sicheng hasn’t even finished the piece when the auditorium fills with applause. It makes Sicheng quirk his lips up, but only slightly. He plays the last note, and carefully lifts his fingers off the keys, then after another second, puts them on his lap. The applauses haven’t stopped. Sicheng stands up, posture still straight and walks to the centre of the stage, and then he bows. The high still hasn’t come off. There are whistles, and cheers and ah, a standing ovation. Sicheng had expected it. He smiles widely, to the camera man and to the crowd, pleased, and sits back down in front of the Steinway. Like clockwork, his fingers are lifted back on the ivory keys and he plays once more.

-

“That was marvellous.” Kun says backstage. “Yet another brilliant performance. Your concerts don’t sell out without a reason.”

Sicheng scoffs, loosening his bow tie. He is absolutely spent. “Of course it was marvellous. I haven’t spent the past months breaking my fingers for it to not be marvellous. Can you get me some water, please? I’m about to die from thirst.”

Kun calls over a staff assistant and they bring Sicheng a bottle of water, bowing. Sicheng takes a giant gulp. 

“I think I have a headache.” He declares. “I swear, the lights on stage are too blinding. My eyesight isn’t as great, either. Kun, just what on Earth am I to do with all these flowers?”

“Whatever you wish,” Kun says. 

Sicheng sighs. He takes a bouquet of white lilies from the bunch, the petals of which are still in tact. “I shall keep this one. You may dispose of the rest.”

Kun nods. “The car is waiting for you, if you wish to leave now.”

Sicheng bids Kun a good night. The ride back to his hotel is mellow. The rain hits the window in steady motions; the driver is listening to some classical piece. Sicheng scrunches his nose in distaste. He clears his throat, catching the man’s attention. “Would you lower down the volume? The sound of the piano is making me feel sick.”

The view from his hotel is quite grandiose. Sicheng, although tired, opens a bottle of champagne and sits in front of the skyline on a velvet armrest. He thinks of turning on the television but decides against it. He’ll read about the success of his first solo concert in New York in the newspapers later. Right now, it’s just him, the champagne, the skyscrapers and the deafening silence. 

Sicheng drinks without moving any unnecessary muscles. If he did, he would be reminded of a beat, and a beat would remind him of a rhythm, and a rhythm would remind him of a melody, which would remind him of music and the fucking La Campanella he had slaved over for months and finally recited today. Sicheng can’t decide if he loves or hates every single second of all this.

What is does know, though, is that he dreads the early flight he has to face tomorrow. Boston. And then Los Angeles. Then San Francisco. After that? He doesn’t remember. 

“Christ,” Sicheng thinks. “One might think I’m a pop idol or something with this world tour.” 

He cracks his knuckles, drums his fingers in mid air. God forbid he forgets even a single note tomorrow. It would be humiliation and an end to his confidence. Sicheng sits back. Exhaustion overflows his muscles, his lower back hurting like hell. But if that’s the price he has to pay for fame and recognition, he’ll gladly pay it. He is a young piano prodigy, a rising star, a famous pianist, he lives in riches and luxury and basks in fame, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

Another standing ovation. More cheers, applauses, flowers, however Sicheng is seconds away from punching a wall.

“Hey,” Kun stops him with a hand on his clenched fist. “We can’t have you break your fingers now.”

“Screw off,” Sicheng rages. “Have you not seen how badly I messed up today?”

“No,” Kun says, “because literally no one except you noticed the tiny slip up you claim to have made. You’re good. Calm down.”

Sicheng relaxes his hand. “This is quite humiliating.”

“You’re too harsh on yourself.” Kun comments. 

“I really don’t think I am.” Sicheng runs a finger through his hair. He supposed he messed up because he hadn’t slept well. He blames it on Boston’s rainy weather. 

“When will I go back home?” He asks.

“In a week, Sicheng. Just hang on a little longer. You have three solo concerts left.”

“That’s a whole nine hours of playing.” Sicheng counts. “Nine hours… The last time I played so much every day I was fifteen and had my mother loom over me with a ruler in case I pressed even one note incorrectly. Oh, the trauma.”

“At fifteen you won your first competition.” Kun reminds him.

Sicheng cracks a small smile. “Ah, time certainly flies, doesn’t it? It’s been ten years now and here I am.”

“Yes,” Kun says, “you’ve come a long way.” His short words of praise make Sicheng smile wider.

“Are you still going to enter the national competition this year?” 

Sicheng moves his fingers. They look bruised to him, although visibly they’re anything but. He notices he broke a nail on his pinkie. “Yes,” he says firmly. “Definitely.”

-

“What is this?” Sicheng asks, seated by his piano back at home. It’s been a month since he finished his tour and now he spends his days practising for the competition. It’s approximately nine months away, but Sicheng likes to start early. If he has to be perfect, he will work for it. Kun gives him a look.

“What is quite a rude way to refer to a person, don’t you think?” The man next to Kun says. 

Sicheng looks at Kun.

“Sicheng, this is your new piano instructor.”

Sicheng’s eyes widen. The man looks far too young to be an instructor, he looks Sicheng’s age, in fact. “A piano instructor? For _me_?” He can’t help but laugh. “Kun, you’re quite a funny one.”

Kun doesn’t laugh. “He’s a professional. One of the best. He will help you win the competition.”

“Do you have no confidence in me, Kun? You wound me.”

“I do,” Kun says, “but do _you_? You’re up against high class pianists who are much more experienced than you. They want you _out_ of the game, the jury included.”

“I am aware of that, yes.” Sicheng says. He closes the lid of his Bösendorfer. Fame and success come at a price – being despised by the world of pianists. He eyes the young man. “So are you going to introduce yourself?”

“Jung Jaehyun.” The man says. “And who might you be?”

Sicheng wants to scoff. “You don’t know of me?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. His eyes look a bit bored. “Quite frankly, no. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked, now, would I?”

Kun grins. “He is Dong Sicheng. Jaehyun, would you be able to start today?”

“Yes.” Jaehyun says. He takes off his coat and sits on a stool beside Sicheng. Sicheng gives him a brief glare. He is almost in disbelief. 

Kun says before leaving, “I’ll leave you two be, then.”

Jaehyun looks at Sicheng. “So. National competition, hm? You’re aiming quite high.”

Sicheng grits his teeth. “I am.”

Jaehyun smiles. “Ambition is good. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He puts the piano lid up.

“I don’t think you quite know who I am.”

Jaehyun says, “Does that matter?”

Sicheng bangs the lid down. “Yes. It does. As a professional pianist myself, I believe that your guidance here not needed, as much I appreciate you coming here unannounced.”

Jaehyun blinks. It aggravates Sicheng a little that he’s unfazed, that he’s never _heard_ of him. How is that actually possible? Sicheng is the talk of the world these days. Any other person would be at his feet by now, but Jaehyun is simply sitting on the stool beside him and nothing more. “Professional, you say? Show me your hands.”

Sicheng sighs. “Why?”

“Just do it.” Jaehyun extends his palms and Sicheng obliges. He spends a second too long holding onto to Sicheng’s hand.

“You know, they say if a pianist has good nails, then they’re not a good pianist.”

Sicheng snatches his hands away. What ever is wrong with his nails? He got them trimmed and manicured just yesterday.

“Oh, how dare you say that to me.” Sicheng says, stomach filling his unexplained anger. Sicheng’s never been one to get along with people who aren’t Kun, moreover with those who are pianists like him. He can already feel his hatred for Jaehyun brewing. Jaehyun only smiles at him, which aggravates him even more.

“If you want to defy that saying, you could play for me.”

“I have absolutely nothing to prove to you,” Sicheng states, but he puts the piano lid back up nonetheless and sighs. 

“What do you want to hear?” If Jaehyun’s so keen on evaluating Sicheng’s skills, he’ll put on a show.

Jaehyun smiles warmly again. He’s too relaxed, too laidback. “How about your favourite piece?”

Sicheng stares at the keys. His hands feel clammy, all of a sudden. No piece quite comes to his mind. He can think of a handful of difficult pieces he was taught, but they aren’t his favourites at all. Sicheng starts questioning himself: does he even have a piece he enjoys playing?

“Now, now,” Jaehyun says, catching onto his hesitation. “Don’t look so helpless. Can you play Mozart?”

Sicheng nods. He plays the Fantasia in D minor perfectly, impeccably, even, but inside he feels a heavy weight in his stomach. It churns his insides unpleasantly, but he chooses not to dwell on something he realizes that he lacks. He’s perfect, he reminds himself. He’s the best pianist of the generation. He’s a prodigy. A wunderkind. One might say he’s absolute. Sicheng wonders – what might Jaehyun say?

“So? Your verdict?”

“Splendid.” Jaehyun says. “You’re incredible.”

Sicheng smiles. “Of course I am.”

Jaehyun laughs. “That’s not how you react to a compliment.”

Sicheng glides his fingers over the black and white keys. “That’s just how I am.” He says. The grandfather clock in the room is ticking too loudly. Jaehyun hums, and asks, “What pieces are you planning on playing for the competition?”

“The Hungarian Rhapsody,” Sicheng replies.

“Number two or number six?”

“Both.”

“My, you’re insane,” Jaehyun says, eyes wide.

Sicheng cracks a smile once again, a smile that makes him feel like he holds all the power beneath his fingertips. In a way, he does. “I quite like Liszt.” 

“I see,” Jaehyun says after a while. “Well, I can assure you can win the nationals with my help.”

And Sicheng narrows his eyes again. “And what makes you think I might need it?”

Jaehyun looks into his eyes. “Because you do. You’re too confident. You rush too much. You play, well, without any soul. You have great skill, great techniques, but that is it. And playing piano, professionally or not, requires more. Your hands are supposed to be a vessel for your soul to bare, but you do nothing of sorts. You play not for your love for the piece, but almost as if for the love you receive for pressing onto the keys. Sicheng, just what do you play for?” 

-

“Kun,” Sicheng says through the telephone. He fiddles with the wires of it angrily, his fingers starting to ache from the cold. “Fire Jaehyun immediately.”

“Why?” Kun lets out a laugh. “First meeting didn’t go too well?”

“That would be an overstatement.” Sicheng says. “That man has insulted me and I will not let it slide.”

“Sicheng,” Kun says, “Some critique will do you only good. You know I listen to all of your requests, but this time I won’t. Mr. Jung knows what he is doing and well…” 

“Say it,” Sicheng says impatiently, looking at the way his hand turns red from the cold. To his misfortune he forgot his gloves. And he’s supposed to keep his hands always warm, too… 

“Well, I thought maybe you might need a friend. You’re so lonely, Sicheng, it hurts me to watch.”

“Friend? In this profession there are no such things as friends.” Sicheng doesn’t wait for Kun’s response before he hangs up. 

He walks out of the booth, hands in his pockets, the cold wind biting on his cheeks. Sicheng has never favoured winter. The sky is a never-ending dull grey, and the cracking of snow under his feet irritates Sicheng even more. For some unknown reason, Jaehyun’s words keep replaying in his head. After Jaehyun had said that, sensing Sicheng’s anger, he cut their session short and said he would come by in a week a the same time and left. Sicheng had spent five hours after that playing and playing, trying to drown his mind and drown his thoughts. He closed the lid of his piano with broken nails and aching arms then, scoffing. “A good pianist,” Sicheng had muttered to himself, “What the fuck am I if not a good pianist?”

Technically, Sicheng knows the superficial answer. He plays for the fame. For the money. If he’s good at something, why not profit off of it? There’s no shame in having a materialistic stimulation. Sicheng likes it – being at the top, being number one. Leaving a mark in history, somewhat; having fans and admirers, having all the attention on him. It makes Sicheng feel like he’s the centre of the universe, the Sun which all planets orbit around. It’s thrilling. Exhilarating. Sicheng feels validated and adored. And yet he doesn’t dare think about the answer that lays underneath. 

He turns around the corner of the street, and after a few more blocks enters a secluded bar. He goes down the stairs and opens the first door on the right. The lights are dim, and there are a handful people inside.

Sicheng orders a whiskey and sits in the far corner from where the lights or the radio music won’t reach him. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Yuta gives Sicheng his glass, smiling. “You haven’t shown up in a few months.” 

Sicheng grunts. “Had a tour. Just returned last month.”

“Last month? How unfriendly of you to not pay your dear old friend a visit right away,” Yuta teases.

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Sicheng says. 

Yuta grins and sits across of him. He rests his head on his hand. “I saw you on television when you performed in New York. You were broadcasted everywhere. How are things going, man?”

“I’m preparing for the national competition and Kun hired a piano instructor for me for that.” Sicheng frowns.

“A piano instructor?” Yuta asks. “For why?”

“Beats me,” Sicheng replies. “I already dislike him.”

Yuta hums. “You dislike everyone.”

Sicheng raises the glass to his lips and laughs. “You’re right about that.”

“Don’t drink too much.” Yuta says warmly. “You have practice tomorrow.”

“I’m not aiming to get drunk. I just want to warm up. It’s cold as shit outside, you know? And I forgot my gloves at home.”

“If you want some tea, just say so.” Yuta says. “On the house.”

Sicheng lets himself smile a little. He drifts his gaze behind Yuta, to the the stage at the other end of the bar. The piano in the left of it shimmers in the dim light. 

Yuta notices Sicheng’s gaze shift and turns around.

“You really ought to play here some time.” He says. “I haven’t heard you play live in so long.”

Sicheng sighs. “Not today, I’m too tired.”

“It’s a shame,” Yuta says, “It would be more lively with some music here.”

Sicheng grins. “Then play yourself. I know you keep your violin somewhere around here.” 

Yuta laughs, “No one comes here to listen to the depressing playing of the violin.”

“I do.” Sicheng takes a gulp of the whiskey and it burns down his throat instantly. His mind quickly flashes an image, a distant memory of Yuta sitting on the edge of the stage, eyes closed, chin resting on the bottom of his violin, his arm moving the bow gracefully across the strings, playing a melancholic melody. Sicheng was sitting first row that day, the only audience in the small space of the bar. That day, he, too, was cradling a glass of whiskey in his hands. He was twenty-one then, and watching Yuta play Barber so sadly, so tenderly, he had wondered whether he was in love. He wasn’t. It was the alcohol, he tells himself to this day, that made him so emotional. Or perhaps it was the music. Maybe a mixture of both. 

“We would’ve been a great duo.” Yuta smiles. 

Sicheng shakes his head, willing his memories away. “We would’ve been awful. I would’ve wanted to play over you. You know me. I can’t be the accompaniment.” 

“Stars were created to shine, yes,” Yuta teases again, then stands up. “I’m going to check on the other customers now. If you wish to bless us with your playing, feel free to do so.”

“Next time, Yuta.” Sicheng insists. 

“I will take your word for it.” Yuta pats him on the shoulder twice. “I’ll get you the tea in a few. Black, right?”

“With sugar.”

“Gotcha.” 

Sicheng drinks the tea in silence and asks another waiter for the bill right away. While searching for his wallet he vaguely sees someone walk up to the stage and sit by the piano, but the moment the person fills the place with soft music, Sicheng is already out of the bar. The night is cold, but the sky is clear. If Sicheng were to crane his head up a little bit, he would see the rare glimmering stars. 

-

Like promised, Jaehyun shows up at Sicheng’s music room on Friday at four in the evening sharp.

“Must you ruin my Friday like this?” Sicheng sighs upon seeing him enter the room. Jaehyun gives him a polite smile. 

“Two shorts hours shouldn’t ruin your whole day.” He sits down on the same stool as last time. “Shall we begin?”

Sicheng already has his music sheets laid out, paper neat and the notes perfectly hand drawn. He plays what he has learnt so far. Not a single mistake. 

“Quite good.” Jaehyun taps his fingers over the neighbouring piano. “But in this part you’re going too fast.” He takes out a pencil and scribbles on Sicheng’s music sheets. It makes the paper bend slightly and it grinds on Sicheng’s nerves a little. He plays once more, this time slower where Jaehyun’s pencil had circled over the pages. 

Two hours deem tolerable, considering when Sicheng focuses on the keys he forgets about the presence sitting next to him. Jaehyun doesn’t speak much at first, letting Sicheng concentrate on his fingers and play that one tricky part over and over and over and…

“Stop.” Jaehyun says clearly over the dissonance under Sicheng’s palms. “You’re going to go insane like this. Let’s take a break.” 

Sicheng looks at the clock. It’s seven. “Why haven’t you told me it’s long past six?”

“You looked too determined to get the culmination right. I didn’t dare interrupt. Would you like to go outside for a stretch?”

Sicheng nods. “A breath of fresh air would be nice.”

He locks up his studio, and step in step they head outside. There’s not much one can do in the cold expect to stand around and breathe in the fresh air. 

“It smells like spring,” Jaehyun comments. It’s the middle of winter. Sicheng nods through his scarf. 

“Do you want me to walk you to the metro?” He asks. “I know you live far. Kun told me.”

Jaehyun’s soft smile is an unusual sight. “That depends on whether you’re going to go back to the studio to practice more or call it a night.”

“You know I’m going to play.” Sicheng says. “I’ve nothing else to do.”

“Then I’ll stay back.” 

“It’s alright,” Sicheng says. His breath crystallises because of the cold. “There’s no need for you to watch over me like a hawk. Just Fridays are enough.” 

Jaehyun nods. “Then I’ll get going.”

Sicheng walks him to the subway station, and Jaehyun leaves him with a bow. Sicheng watches him disappear down the steps and then turns around, heading back to his music room. Despite having been kept warm in his coat pockets, his fingers are cold when Sicheng puts them over the piano. He does some muscle exercises, then plays some scales, and by the time he looks up from the piano, the clock strikes eleven. 

In solitude he gently stacks his notes into his briefcase, and locks up the room once again. He hadn’t realized how hungry he is.

“Should’ve asked Jaehyun to grab dinner with me before he left,” he says to himself, then walks down the stairs to the exit. They creak under his weight, indicating their lengthy lifespan, and Sicheng can only imagine how many pianists these stairs must have held over a century. 

He puts the key in his inner pocket, and braces himself for the cold, but instead, he’s greeted by the peculiar winter breeze that’s not too cold, but refreshing; warm, almost. 

It does smell like spring. 

-

“So, how are you liking Jaehyun?” Kun asks in Sicheng’s apartment over a cup of tea. He had come by to inform Sicheng of interviews and concert for the future month. “Have you warmed up to him yet?”

“I have not.” Sicheng replies, dropping yet another sugar cube into his cup.

Kun frowns a little. “At least, you can’t deny he’s helpful.”

“Surprisingly. You know, Kun, it’s funny. He gives me the most basic advice and critique, that I somehow overlook while playing. Why don’t I notice these tiny mistakes myself?”

“Jaehyun’s got an eye for detail. If you’re a perfectionist, then he’s more than that, but also less. His lighthearted attitude and approach to professional things is what made me beg to let me hire him.”

“Where on Earth did you even find him?” Sicheng asks, partially curiously.

“I have my ways,” Kun laughs. 

“You really deserve a week off,” Sicheng sips on the tea. It burns his tongue a little bit he continues drinking. “I feel bad for making you do so much for me.”

“I don’t mind,” Kun says, “You pay me well.”

“You’re just in it for the money, aren’t you.”

“Aren’t we all!” Kun exclaims. Sicheng feels himself smile.

Kun tells Sicheng about the interviews. “Since your solo tour has been a huge success, many people wish to speak with the prodigy himself.” He grins.

“Oh my, don’t call me that,” Sicheng scrunches his nose, waving his hands.

“It’s what the newspapers say.” Kun grins. “Any-who, I told the kind ladies you’re busy at the moment.”

“Thank you,” Sicheng says. “To be honest, I am quite tired.”

“I know you are,” Kun says, frowning. “Won’t you rest?”

“I’ve got no time. If I slack off for even a day, my progress will go adrift.”

Kun tsks. “The competition is in August. You’ll get sick of Liszt before then.” 

Sicheng helps Kun get ready. He hands the man his coat and hat, and bids him a safe trip home. “I’ll be fine, you know I will.”

Kun leaves with a wave.

-

Fridays, unfortunately, roll around fast. Sicheng’s sheet music gradually becomes messier and messier from Jaehyun’s scribbles, exclamation marks, notes about the tempo, and every time he looks at them, Sicheng feels like frowning.

Jaehyun, to Sicheng’s surprise, is patient and persistent. Before Jaehyun, Sicheng had had a couple of music tutors that all had quit due to his outbursts. Kun had suggested for Sicheng take up anger management classes; Sicheng flipped him off. 

“Now, this just won’t do.” Jaehyun taps Sicheng’s shoulder with his notes. “You’re overworking yourself.”

“Am not.”

“Sicheng, it’s been nearly four hours and you haven’t gotten up even _once_. I suggest we stop for today.”

“Are you here to tutor me or to distract me from work?” Sicheng asks, halting in his playing. He would dare to disagree, this is his usual pre-competition work ethic. Play hard, do everything later. Sicheng hasn’t slept properly since his tour, if he were to be honest, but it’s nothing new. It’s eat, play, sleep, repeat. He barely goes out to see Yuta, too. He wishes for the competition to come faster, so he could play off Liszt and not touch the piano for a month at least. He would buy a one way ticket to somewhere tropical, and stay there until his skin would have tanned and the tension from his muscles would have dissipated. He would spend the evenings gazing at the sunset, and drinking cocktails without any worry of having to wake up early for practice. 

“As the best pianist of this generation, you don’t require much tutoring. You’re already a gem, and you know that.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “I thought you had no idea who I am.” 

“I saw you on television today,” Jaehyun says. “If I’m being honest, I was quite surprised when I put two and two together. You play marvellously, however…”

Sicheng purses his lips. If there’s anything he hates more, is receiving critique after praise. Although he won’t show it, Jaehyun’s constant comments bruise his ego. Is he not as absolute as Sicheng had thought he was? 

Kun says it’s a good thing Jaehyun is there to keep Sicheng levelheaded, since no one even dares to say anything negative about how he plays. 

“It’s because Jaehyun didn’t initially know that you’re famous, or what kind of personality you have,” Kun had said, “To him, you’re just another student. Maybe an excellent one, but still a student.” 

And it was a low blow. Being reduced from a star to a nobody is what doesn’t sit well with Sicheng. It’s something he can’t help but feel churn unpleasantly in his stomach. Maybe Kun was right, perhaps he does need somebody to ground him back to reality and get his head out of the clouds.

“However what?”

“…However you lack, how should I put it, feelings?”

And that’s an even lower blow. Sicheng frowns. “What do you mean?”

Jaehyun clasps and unclasps his hands. “It’s like, you play without any emotion. When I listen to you play, I can’t decipher what you’re feeling, or what the composer is feeling. 

“It’s like…” he puts his finger atop the keys of the piano he’s sitting next to, but after a moment of hesitation refrains from pressing on them. Jaehyun turns back to Sicheng and clasps his hands again. “Like emotions convey so much, they add so much richness to the piece, without them everything just feels a little bit off. Only a little, but nonetheless.” 

Sicheng narrows his eyes, “What, you think if you play while twisting your face in pain and show how sad you are you play correctly? That’s unprofessional!”

“No,” Jaehyun says. “You don’t have to show it on your face… Just show it using your fingers. Playing piano is more than just pressing the keys to the according timeframe.” 

“God,” Sicheng sighs, exhausted. “You really know how to insult me. What next, are you going to call me talentless and unworthy of my achievements?”

“Christ, no! Who told you that?”

“You are right. Let’s take a break.” Sicheng says. “In fact, let’s stop for today. I’m not in the mood to practice anymore.” 

“Sicheng,” Jaehyun says quietly. “I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings or undermine what you have achieved, I’m just being objective and honest as your tutor. I’m saying all of this because I want you to improve.”

“I did not ask you to be my tutor,” Sicheng says.

“And yet here I am.” Jaehyun presses. “Don’t brush off my advice, Sicheng.”

Sicheng grits his teeth. “You have your own principles, I have my own. Just because the way you play differs from mine doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Jaehyun stands up from his seat.

“That’s what I’m _hearing_.”

Jaehyun runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You really ought to learn how to digest advice. I’m not here to sabotage you. Why can’t you see that?”

“What do you want me to see?” Sicheng says. “What _am_ I supposed to see when I have this stranger suddenly show up and tell me that the way I’ve been living all my life is incorrect? Feelings this, emotion that… If you want to play with feelings, then play yourself!”

Sicheng only realizes how close they’re standing when he smells Jaehyun’s cologne. It smells like forests after it’d rained.

“Do you really think I’m here to tutor based on my own wishes? Kun asked me to come help you.”

“Then you’re free to go. I don’t need your help. I know how the competitions work and I _know_ how the judges want to me to play. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Sicheng puts on his coat and gloves. “Have a good night,” he says and walks out out of the door before Jaehyun can stop him.

He hails a taxi to Yuta’s bar, and after a fifteen-minute ride Yuta is out there to greet him with a hug.

“I’m assuming you didn’t come here to play something.” 

“God, no,” Sicheng groans, “Please, make me something strong.”

Yuta pours him cognac. “Want to talk about it?”

“It’s been a long day.” Sicheng says. “Which brand is that?”

“Hine Antique.”

“It’s good.”

“Only the best for you,” Yuta smiles. His hair has grown a little bit in the month Sicheng hasn’t seen him. Sicheng notices a new piercing on Yuta’s ear. His gaze lingers on it however he says nothing about it.

“Do you think I’m emotionless?” He asks.

Yuta laughs. “You? Where? You nearly cried when you broke a nail on your finger because you hated how asymmetrical it looked.”

“That was years ago,” Sicheng says. “I’ve changed. Look at my nails. They’re so ugly. I don’t care about that anymore.”

Yuta takes Sicheng’s hand. His touch is unusually warm, and it briefly makes Sicheng want to intertwine their fingers together. He doesn’t. 

“You have pianist hands,” Yuta says, squeezing Sicheng’s hand. “That’s all that matters, doesn’t it?”

Sicheng smiles. “I suppose it does.”

“I suppose to outsiders you might appear serious,” Yuta puts his other hand to where Sicheng’s heart is beating fast, “but they have no idea how warm that is.”

Sicheng’s hands start sweating. With flushed cheeks he swats Yuta’s hands away. “Enough, enough.”

Yuta grins. “Did your tutor say something to you?”

“That I play without feelings. Just press the keys and that’s it.” Sicheng takes a large gulp. “And then I kind of lashed out on him. Got too defensive. God, I can’t stand him sometimes.”

“Hm.” Yuta says. “Are you so angry because he’s wrong or because he’s right?”

“Because he’s right.” Sicheng admits. “I suppose. I don’t know. I thought… I thought I had no flaws.”

Yuta laughs, pulling Sicheng into a tight embrace. “Of course you have flaws, kid. You’re only human.”

The aftertaste in Sicheng’s mouth is bitter, and not from the alcohol. It’s like a hard-to-swallow pill. Sicheng can’t stand admitting he’s wrong, or that he has a flaw. It goes against his perfectionist nature – he strives to be perfect in every way possible. Maybe he’s over-calculating things, maybe he’s being too serious about all this, maybe he’s just too high strung at the moment…

“Don’t call me a kid.” Sicheng says. 

“Old habit, sorry,” Yuta laughs. “But think about it, eh? It’s okay to not be perfect. Critique is okay. Maybe listen to your instructor? He can bring out the full potential within you.”

“Hm.” Sicheng whirls his glass round and round in circles. “Let’s order one more bottle.”

Yuta gets an extra glass for himself. “For solidarity,” He says.

It’s takes a while, but Sicheng gets pleasantly tipsy after half a bottle. Yuta’s glass stays half full, but Sicheng doesn’t mind that. He longs for the lightness in his shoulders that only alcohol can provide, that fuzzy feeling in his head that warps him in an illusion that everything is okay, ridding him of his worries. But after another glass the lightness turns into heaviness, and Sicheng groans.

“I don’t get it,” he says, slurring his words, “What the fuck does Jaehyun know? Does he think he’s better than me? Is that it? Yuta, is that the case? What do you think?”

“I think it’s time to get you home.” Yuta says. He hoists Sicheng up with an arm around his waist. Sicheng feels himself melt with the sudden warmth surrounding him. 

“Whoa, you’re quite wasted,” Yuta laughs. “Can’t stand?” 

Sicheng mumbles something into the crook of Yuta’s neck. He’s becoming addicted to the fragrance Yuta wears. It’s sweet and light, much unlike Jaehyun’s cologne. Yuta drums his fingers over Sicheng’s waist, and the touch sends tingles down Sicheng’s back. The touch almost burns.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Truthfully, Sicheng isn’t even that drunk. He just wants to hold onto Yuta for a bit longer than necessary. The outside air hits him like a cold brick in the face, and he feels himself sober up. Yuta hails a cab, and pushes Sicheng inside the backseat of the vehicle once it arrives. 

“Should I come with you?”

“No, I’m fine” Sicheng replies, despite wanting to say the opposite. If Yuta were to come with him, Sicheng would ask him to stay the night.

“Alright.” Yuta nods, and tells the driver the address. 

Sicheng gazes out of the window and watches the way snow steadily falls over the city, like a blanket. When he feels his eyes starting to close, the driver says they’ve arrived. Sicheng gives him a large banknote and leaves without asking for change. As soon as he reaches his bed, he falls asleep for an entire day.

He wakes up to the sound of his telephone ringing. 

“Hello?” He puts the telephone to his ear and hopes it’s Kun calling him. Or Yuta. 

“Sicheng? It’s me, Jaehyun.” 

“Hello.”

“Kun gave me your home number. I was calling to find out how I could return the keys to you?”

“Keys? Which keys?”

“From your music room. You left so suddenly yesterday. I locked the place and kept the keys with me just in case.”

Sicheng groans. “Oh, I completely forgot about that. My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” Jaehyun. His voice sounds unusually deep through the phone. “Can I hand them over to you today? Or are you busy?”

“Yes. Meet me in front of the central subway station at…” Sicheng looks at the clock, “…at two.”

Jaehyun reconfirms the address and hangs up. Sicheng puts the phone down and sighs. His head is throbbing and his throat is dry, and if he gets up right now he’ll be able to meet Jaehyun on time.

Sicheng wonders: why did he initiate to meet Jaehyun himself? He could’ve just asked for Jaehyun to keep the keys until next Friday, or could’ve told Kun to pick them up whenever he was free. Sicheng’s in no mood to practice either today. He showers and puts on a modest suit – he always wears suits – and combs his hair.

He wonders: where do they go after that? Should Sicheng invite Jaehyun for some tea, should he apologize to him for the outburst, or should they simply part ways? Sicheng puts on his cologne and goes to the hallway to put on his coat and gloves. It is already February, and the winter winds are stronger, but the only things Sicheng can think about on his ride to the central metro station are how the competition is a few months away, how on Earth he should face Jaehyun and how pretty Yuta looked last night. 

Eventually, his headache subsides. It’s ten past two when he arrives, and he can already make out Jaehyun’s broad back in the distance of the hall. Jaehyun is leaning on a column, reading a newspaper.

Sicheng walks up to him. “Isn’t it a bit too loud to be reading newspapers here?”

Jaehyun gives him a smile. “Good afternoon, Sicheng. Well, I’m not quite reading. Just looking. Look, you turned out exceptionally handsome in this photograph.”

Sicheng peers over Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Ah, they’ve written about me again.”

“I see you’re quite used to publicity.”

“Since I was very young, yes.” Sicheng says. “Might as well embrace it.”

Jaehyun folds the newspaper and puts it away. “Shall we stop by ‘Vanilla’ for a cup of tea?”

“I won’t object to that.” 

Somehow Jaehyun lands them a seat with the view on the Cathedral, and Sicheng can’t help but stare at the beautiful golden domes. 

“This is a lovely place.” 

“It really is. I frequent it a lot. Love the ambience.”

Sicheng looks around the place. It’s filled with high ceilings and modern furniture, large windows and greenery. Soft jazzy music plays in the background and waiters are very polite. The armchair Sicheng is sitting on is soft and the menu looks delicious. “I can see why.”

Sicheng orders a coffee along with his main course and Jaehyun orders a tea with an appetiser. After the waiter brings them their drinks, Jaehyun takes out the keys and drops them in Sicheng’s awaiting palm. 

“Sicheng,” Jaehyun begins, “Also, about yesterday…”

Jaehyun has a look on his face, where his brows crease slightly, and Sicheng half-expects him to apologise. However the apology doesn’t come.

“I would like to ask of you to cooperate with me. The competition is in half a year and that is very little time to learn two huge pieces. Even lesser time to have them all polished into perfection. I want us to get along.”

“Why?”

“Why? How else are we to make progress if we keep clashing every lesson?” 

“I’ve told you I don’t need your help. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

Jaehyun sighs. “Sicheng, listen. I’m not a stranger to these competitions either. The way you play isn’t wrong, no, _but_ I have heard that the judges are not keen on you hogging all the awards to yourself either. You know what they’re going to do? They’re going to nitpick at every mistake you might possibly make, be it being off beat or missing a note, and even if you don’t make any mistakes, they’ll still come up with reasons to lower your points, which is, in your case, the _way_ you play. Without emotion. I’ve seen it happen. If you want them them to shut up, you’re going to listen to me and cooperate.”

Sicheng bites on the inside of his cheek. 

“What do you suggest?” he asks. “That we practice not once but twice a week?”

“Frankly, yes.” Jaehyun says. “Also, please, no more tantrums.”

Sicheng tightens his hold on his cup slightly. “Alright,” he says after some thought. “But I can’t promise the last part. I have quite a temper.”

“I’m sure you can endure a little critique until August,” Jaehyun says. 

“I shall do my best.”

Even though he understands where Jaehyun is coming from, Sicheng is still a little annoyed. He supposes it’s something he can’t get used to, to have feedback that isn’t positive. Even if he _is_ lacking somewhere, he knows of it and he doesn’t want it pointed out. And it feels like precisely what Jaehyun is here for, to remind him that he lacks and that he’s not good enough. It’s an unpleasant memory Sicheng tries to forget: the image of the piano instructor he had when he was thirteen and in his final year of music school, telling Sicheng he was worse than her six-year old students. 

Sicheng clearly remembers when she played Fantasie Impromptu with her old crooked fingers and said, “Look at what my second year students play. And you can’t even play a simple Hayden’s sonata!”

Sicheng was softer back then. More naïve, he would say. Back then, as a young teen, he truly believed every word his piano instructor had told him about his skills, had absorbed her remarks and insults like a sponge. He was affected more than he would like to admit. It happened only once, but during one of their lessons he cracked under her stern gaze and harsh words and left the music room to wipe his tears in the bathroom, and then returned with red eyes and shaky hands to continue the lesson.

Her words have stuck with him even after he graduated with an honours diploma, enrolled into a conservatory and graduated from that, like a broken record. At first, they were a burden, they still are, to come extent, but Sicheng used them to practice piano day and night to prove his instructor wrong. 

Truthfully, Sicheng owes his teacher a lot. She has fundamentally shaped him into the pianist he is today, made a gem out of a mineral. She had woken up a sense of competitiveness buried deep inside of him, an inextinguishable fire to overcome and surpass. And here Sicheng is, twelve years later, as the greatest pianist of the generation. He is praised for his talent and skill, but not many know of the hundreds of hours he had spent slaving away by the piano through his tears and sweat, determined to get things right but close to giving up completely.

He sips on his coffee and wonders whether his piano instructor is proud of where he is today. 

The prospect of giving up, ultimately, remains. Jaehyun and his former piano teacher are quite alike, in a sense that they are brutally honest and don’t hold back on their critique. All other instructors Sicheng had had were kinder and softer. Sicheng would say they were easy on him, in a sense. In his conservatory his tutors gave him hell, but they also gave him credit. During his late teens Sicheng was already an outstanding pianist, and he had graduated early. He won competitions and countless medals and trophies. His mother pushed him into the spotlight, and Sicheng loved it: to get validation and approval, to be recognised for his hard work. Sicheng won’t deny that he’s abused that praise. It’s easy to get used to positivity. So when Jaehyun tells Sicheng off, it grits his nerves, reminding him of his early teenage years when he was ridiculed. 

The winter sun goes beyond the horizon faster than Sicheng’s thoughts down memory lane, and before he knows it, the cathedral’s golden domes shine bright in the night. Despite Sicheng’s protests, Jaehyun insists on paying for their meal.

“I was the one who invited you to lunch, after all.” He says.

Sicheng purses his lips. “Alright.”

“So, will I see you on Friday?”

Sicheng nods. “Yes.”

They leave the restaurant with their hands in their pockets and noses buried in their scarves. The sky is a dark shade of grey because of the clouds with snow threatening to fall. 

“I live in the opposite direction,” Jaehyun says while they’re in the metro. When the train arrives, Jaehyun bows. “Good night, Sicheng, have a safe ride home.”

In the crammed space of the noisy subway Sicheng wonders why he didn’t hail a taxi when he could easily afford doing so, the screeching of the train against the rails resonating in his ears. After six stops he disembarks and walks back home with snowflakes falling onto his coat and hair. 

He doesn’t know why, but he dials Yuta’s number. When he doesn’t pick up, Sicheng dials the telephone number of his bar. Of course, Yuta spends most of his days there. After a couple of rings, Yuta picks up the phone himself.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Yuta.” Sicheng says.

“Sicheng!” Yuta’s voice is smooth and light, like always. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I just wanted to talk.”

“Why not come to the bar then?” 

Sicheng imagines how Yuta must look right now. He’s probably in his suit, with his blond hair parted at the side and combed. He’s probably wearing new piercings and that ridiculous wide smile that seems to never leave his face. He can sense how Yuta is smiling through the phone right now, too. He imagines Yuta and his redwood violin. 

“I’m too tired at the moment, but I just remembered something.”

“What is it?” 

“Us during our conservatory days, studying in the same music room.”

“Ah, yes.” Yuta laughs. Sicheng hears the chatter of the people and the radio music in the distance. “I remember us ditching our music theory lessons every once and a while, and how our professor hated us for it.”

Sicheng feels himself smile. “I remember when you showed up to my first solo recital.”

“Of course! You know me, I’ll always be there, first row.”

“You gave me a huge bouquet of flowers that day.” 

“Lilies, right?”

“White, yes.”

Sicheng remembers it clearly: how he had invited his family and college friends, hoping they would come. It was his first solo concert, and he wasn’t nervous, no, he had already participated in competitions and had enough confidence in himself, but when he spotted Yuta sitting there, watching him play, he had felt a little anxious. It was very out of character for him, to feel that way, but Yuta had that effect on him. To this day, he still does.

When Yuta gave him the flowers, Sicheng’s heart soared, and not from the exhilaration from finishing his performance. The bright smile Yuta directed at him that day made him forget that he was the centre of the stage for a brief moment. Sicheng kept the flowers in a vase until they inevitably wilted, but his newfound intangible feelings had not, it seems. Sicheng pushes them down.

-

March brings around melted snow and more frequent sunny days. Sicheng is swarmed with piano lessons and interviews about his tour. This day, the interviewer was kind enough not to pry into his personal life, possibly per Kun’s request, and only asked about his tour and upcoming competition. 

“How do you feel about being one of the most influential and inspiring pianists for current generation?”

Sicheng smiled then. “With hard work and persistence you can achieve anything.” 

“What’s gotten you so star-struck?” Kun asks Sicheng while make up artists remove his makeup. The young lady had insisted to put on some eyeshadow on him, and Sicheng couldn’t refuse her. “You seemed a bit out of it today.”

“Did I?” Sicheng wonders. “I hadn’t realized.”

March also brings out a certain melancholy within Sicheng. He thinks the weather and his moods are closely tied together. When the clouds waver, he does too. When the sky cries, he feels somber. 

“Something on your mind?” 

Sicheng says, “The competition is nearing.”

“It’s five months away.”

“Exactly.” Sicheng looks at his bare face through the mirror. The foundation really hid his tiredness away well. “That is not enough time.”

“You have plenty of time, Sicheng.” Kun reassures. “You’re working as hard as you can. You will win, trust me.”

Sicheng sighs. “You’re right. I will.”

Kun gives him a smile. “There’s the Sicheng I know.”

Sicheng looks down at his wrist watch. In fifteen minutes, Jaehyun promised to pick him up outside the building. 

“Should I call for a taxi for you?” Kun asks. 

“No need,” Sicheng shakes his head, “I’ll go back with Jaehyun.”

“Jaehyun? Since when were you two close?”

Sicheng shrugs. “We aren’t, really. We’re just colleagues.” Jaehyun had insister that they meet up some time outside of practices to get to know each other better. Sicheng initially wanted to refuse, but upon seeing Jaehyun’s smile he couldn’t find it in himself to say no. 

“Colleagues who walk each other home.” Kun says.

“Not each other,” Sicheng grins, “Only me.”

Kun laughs. “Jaehyun is quite the gentleman. You can learn a thing or two from him.”

Sicheng quirks a brow. “Now that was just uncalled for.” 

The winds are not less harsher than the ones in winter, and Sicheng blinks away crystal tears that form from the cold. March is a weird month, he thinks. As gloomy as winter, but with a beacon of false hope of spring arriving soon. It never does, leaving Sicheng wishing for April to be warmer. April, too, in the beginning rarely is. 

Jaehyun, as always, is on time. He could rival Sicheng in punctuality. Honestly, Jaehyun could rival Sicheng in many things, both of them being of the same age, same backgrounds and possessing the same talents, but Sicheng doesn’t dwell on it, and instead forces a smile at Jaehyun, who waves at him. Sicheng waves back.

“Where are you taking me?” Sicheng asks. “I’m assuming you’re not just walking me home.”

Jaehyun laughs. “You’re a good guesser. I wanted to show you something.”

He leads Sicheng along the quay, and then turns to a shop after the bridge. 

“A music shop.” Sicheng says. “Why are we here?”

“They have the best Steinways here. I want you to play Liszt and feel the grand piano underneath your fingertips. It’s a wonderful feeling.”

“Oh, I know,” Sicheng smiles. “Grand pianos are truly something else.”

There are not many customers, and in the area where Jaehyun and Sicheng are amongst rows of expensive instruments, there’s no one. Sicheng sits down, brings his hands up to the keys, takes a deep breath and plays what he remembers by heart. 

It’s nice to play in a more spacious room, even though Jaehyun is his only listener. Sicheng is used to public, he’s used to crowds, but sometimes, having only Jaehyun there is enough. Sicheng will admit it, despite everything Jaehyun is a good teacher. When he he stops playing, for once he doesn’t expect the applause that comes his way. The staff ask him for an autograph, and he signs his photographs for them. 

“You’re adored,” Jaehyun says when they walk out. 

“Maybe so,” Sicheng says. “How was I?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Yes.”

“Grey.” 

Sicheng hums like what Jaehyun said is nothing, but inside he feels sick inside out. It’s how his former piano teacher used to talk about his playing back in the day, Sicheng had not forgotten, he can never forget. He averts his gaze downwards as he remembers her old wrinkled face, the same hopeless expression she wore when she kept calling him grey and colourless as he was learning Hayden. Grey, grey, grey. 

“Grey is my favourite colour, actually.” He says, more to his old piano teacher than to Jaehyun, not hiding the bitterness in his voice. He still feels nauseous. “I’ll stop here, thank you for walking me all this way.”

He watches Jaehyun nod and turn around the corner of the street, and only then does he enter a supermarket to buy a packet of cigarettes.

-

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.” Sicheng says on a Monday evening. It’s been approximately a week after the interview and his impromptu concert in the music store. “No matter what I do, I can’t convey emotion the way Jaehyun wants me to.”

Yuta pats him on the back. “You’re practically learning the piano all over again. Your axis is being tiled. It’s only natural to lose balance.” 

Sicheng drums Bach on the table with his fingers again. Invention in D minor. He learnt the piece when he was six, and nearly twenty years later, it stuck. “Perhaps.” He says. 

“Trust me, give yourself time and you’ll be all right.”

Sicheng considers opening up to Yuta about his piano teacher. Yuta is someone who knows a lot about Sicheng – he is arguably Sicheng’s only friend – however of the trauma Sicheng’s old piano teacher had caused him he doesn’t know. Sicheng had been close to spilling everything to Yuta multiple times, at the peak of his frustration and self-loathing, when everything was going wrong and when he desperately wanted to hear words of reassurance and comfort, but he never told anything in the end, thinking he was making the whole situation into a bigger deal than it actually was. His mother once caught him crying silently after piano lessons, and after he told her what was wrong she told him to stop being dramatic, so Sicheng had wiped his tears and never spoke about it to anyone ever again. 

So as much as he wants, he can’t tell Yuta that it’s excruciatingly difficult. It’s difficult when he’s honestly _trying_ and _trying_ but he can’t get anything right. He can’t put emotion, he can’t feel it, he can’t transfer it onto the keys, onto the piano. In the years he played without an instructor he patched up that hole in his consciousness and forgot about it, playing like he always knew, without feeling but with skill, perfectly and standardly. And now Jaehyun comes along and tells Sicheng off just like his former piano teacher did and his world turns upside down once again, and he is so undeniably lost and confused. But he can’t tell Yuta that.

Sicheng sighs, exhausted. “Enough about my worries. Tell me something new about that has happened with you instead.”

Yuta smiles, in a shy way Sicheng has never witnessed before. “Well, there’s this girl…” 

Sicheng feels like he’s crumbling.

-

Maybe the main reason why Sicheng can’t pour out his emotions is indeed because he doesn’t feel them much. Even in the rare occasions when he does, when they come like a crashing wave and hit him like a storm, he doesn’t let it show. Only when he’s in solitude does he let them overflow. He supposes it’s unfair to take everything out on the piano, but it’s been his only companion throughout his entire life, and it’s the only way he knows how to deal with whatever he’s feeling at the moment.

“Whoa.” 

Sicheng closes the lid. It’s still an hour before his scheduled lesson, and he was confident he was alone in the small space of his music room. 

“Just now…” Jaehyun trails off. “The way you played…”

“Hm?” Sicheng asks, glancing at Jaehyun’s honey brown eyes. “How?” 

“It’s as if your heart got broken.”

A sigh leaves Sicheng’s lips. He huffs out a laugh, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

“You’re early.”

“I had a hunch you’d be here. You always practice before lessons.”

“That’s true. However you are always on time. What’s up?”

Jaehyun sits beside him. “More like what’s up with you. Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Sicheng replies, “I’m good. Shall we start the lesson now and finish earlier?”

“That would be nice.” 

Jaehyun lifts the lid of the neighbouring piano, even though he doesn’t play on it. He never does, for some reason. He asks after a beat of silence, “Would you like to come to the theatre with me tonight?”

Sicheng is a bit taken aback by the invitation. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun looks shy, “I got an extra ticket from my friend who’s the lead singer in this opera. I wanted to invite you earlier, but I didn’t really have the chance.”

“…But I am unprepared.”

“The show begins at eight. You have plenty of time to go home and get ready. I can pick you up at seven. Do say yes,” he smiles.

Sicheng agrees, and hours later he finds himself in the left box of the Bolshoi theatre, dressed in a suit and bowtie. He usually dresses up like this to perform, so it’s nice to be in the audience for a change. Sicheng almost forgot what it’s like, to only listen. Jaehyun had picked him up in a Maybach, also dressed in a suit. They rode in silence through the traffic to the centre of the city.

The opera is full of wonderful music and gorgeous outfits. Jaehyun’s friend sings to his heart’s content, however Sicheng can only focus on the orchestra pit. He had almost ended up there, after all. Sicheng wonders where his life would be now if he had accepted his college’s offer to work in the best orchestra of the country. Sicheng had declined and went solo, and he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Sicheng moves his head to look at Jaehyun. He looks exceptionally handsome tonight, Sicheng notices. His gaze is focused on the stage but his eyes are undeniably soft. They’re sitting quite close to each other, and when Jaehyun rests his hand on Sicheng’s thigh, Sicheng’s eyes widen but he doesn’t push Jaehyun away. His touch is warm, in an almost comforting way, and for a moment Sicheng craves more of that warmth, but he can’t bring himself to ask for more. He thinks about how sad he must’ve looked for Jaehyun to drag him out to clear his mind, but he’s very grateful. Jaehyun gives him a small smile and Sicheng returns it hesitantly, almost. 

Jaehyun keeps his hand on his thigh throughout the whole act, and even when he’s leading Sicheng backstage to meet his friend, his hand lingers around Sicheng’s waist. The gesture makes Sicheng shy, for whatever reason. Jaehyun isn’t one to be touchy or overly friendly. Why the change? Sicheng wonders. 

Moon Taeil, as it turns out, is a fan of Sicheng.

“Oh, my!” He exclaims, eagerly shaking Sicheng’s hand. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Sicheng says, “You were wonderful today.”

“Thank you, thank you, oh, gosh, I can’t believe it’s really you. Jaehyun, why didn’t you tell me you were friends with _the_ Dong Sicheng?”

Jaehyun laughs. Sicheng notices the two dimples on his cheeks. “Well, now you know.”

Taeil invites them to the after party as a celebration of their premiere, and Sicheng can’t refuse Taeil’s charming smile. The party is posh and the banquet is grand, and there’s music and alcohol, and Sicheng relaxes with each second. The tension leaves his muscles and his stormy thoughts drain, leaving a mellow stream behind. Jaehyun sticks close to him throughout the evening for familiarity, although Sicheng recognises a handful of people from the music industry there. Some like him, some don’t, some shake his hand, some bow, some look away. Recently, it’s interesting to Sicheng to know how he’s perceived by others.

“Don’t you think it’s interesting what people think about you?” Sicheng asks Jaehyun.

Jaehyun is drinking a glass of champagne. It’s his fourth or fifth one, Sicheng has lost count. “Sometimes it’s nice to not know. It’s intriguing.” 

“Maybe so.”

Again, Jaehyun is standing awfully close to him. Their shoulders are almost touching, and if Jaehyun wanted to, he could loop his arm around Sicheng’s waist fully. It’s a thought Sicheng has entertained once, maybe, especially when Jaehyun looked at him with that kind smile of his, and the way his heart unknowingly sped up… Maybe he doesn’t love Yuta, Sicheng thinks, especially when Yuta sees him as nothing more than a friend, and Sicheng knows that very well. Sicheng thinks he’s doing a great job not feeling bittersweet about Yuta finding someone, even though he knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. Yuta had nudged him about finding someone, too, asked if Sicheng had any person in his heart. Sicheng laughed it off. For some reason his thoughts somehow drifted to Jaehyun, but he shut them off and said no.

He feels Jaehyun put his head on his shoulder. It makes Sicheng snap out of his thoughts and return back to reality, to the music and the food and the wine, and to Jaehyun. 

“Jaehyun, are you tipsy?”

“Maybe.” Jaehyun grins. “The champagne is quite delicious.”

“I can imagine.” Sicheng doesn’t shake him off. The warmth from Jaehyun being so close to him makes him feel grounded.

“Would you like to know?” Jaehyun asks, “What I think about you?”

After not much thought Sicheng shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. He doesn’t think he can bear any criticism about his emotionless playing or his greyness or his _whatever_. This night has lifted up his spirits greatly, and he doesn’t wanted them to be crushed all over. It’s already hard keeping himself together as it is. “I don’t.” 

“I think you’re very pretty,” Jaehyun still says, quietly, as if only for Sicheng to hear. 

“Oh.” Sicheng replies.

“That’s not how you react to compliments,” Jaehyun smiles. He lifts his head up a little and presses a brief kiss on Sicheng’s neck, behind his ear, then puts his head back on Sicheng’s shoulder. 

Sicheng nearly drops the glass he’s holding. 

“My, you’re quite very drunk.” Sicheng says, flustered. He knows that his cheeks colour scarlet, and he prays that no one notices. Jaehyun presses Sicheng closer to him. Sicheng takes a deep inhale, downs his champagne like it’s vodka and wishes for the floor to swallow him whole. 

-

They don’t talk of it.

Sicheng doesn’t dare to bring the incident up, and Jaehyun doesn’t speak of it either. It makes Sicheng restless; he sometimes wishes Jaehyun would talk about that night, talk about whether what he said was genuine. Did he really find Sicheng pretty? If so, why? Sicheng can’t fathom Jaehyun would think anything of him besides him being a huge stuck-up. Sicheng hasn’t been the most nicest person to him after all… But even then, it’s as if he can almost feel the ghost of Jaehyun’s kiss against his neck. It makes him shiver. The prospect of Jaehyun finding Sicheng attractive makes him feel a cluster of feelings, scrambled and tangled, makes him feel flushed and confused. 

Jaehyun is attractive himself. He’s fit and has a handsome face, his hair is always styled neatly and his hands are in excellent shape. Sometimes Sicheng wonders how often Jaehyun plays for his hands to look so good and well-cared for. So for Jaehyun to show interest in Sicheng – if it’s interest and not politeness Sicheng could mistake it for – leaves Sicheng shy. It’s something new to him. Seeing Jaehyun in another light is very new to him. Kun has mentioned many times that Jaehyun is a handsome man, but Sicheng never cared. But now – he can’t help but care. 

Jaehyun pretends as if nothing has happened. Maybe he really does not remember, Sicheng thinks, he was quite drunk after all. But Sicheng notices it – the lingering touches Jaehyun leaves behind when they practice: him leaving his hand on Sicheng’s wrist as he guides his arm, him sitting close to Sicheng, him putting a hand on Sicheng’s thigh when he’s explaining something. All of these touches burn. Sicheng can’t help but feel that they’re not accidental at all, and when he looks Jaehyun’s way, he’s more or less sure the gaze Jaehyun gives him is filled with unspoken words. 

March quickly blends into April, and slowly but surely life begins to sprout under the melted snow. With April comes even more rain and the charming smell of petrichor, becomes frequent the crystal dew on virescent grass and meticulous spiderwebs; longer become the days and shorter become the nights.

Playing piano while the rain pours outside the window engulfs Sicheng in a certain spell he doesn’t dare break. Jaehyun, as always, is an arm’s reach away from him, even though Sicheng often forgets he’s there. He submerges himself into the music completely, closes his eyes and plays, his fingers as light on the keys as the raindrops fall onto the ground, quick and vibrant, like a tender caress. 

“Stop here,” Jaehyun’s worlds cut through his magical bubble like a knife. “Play this part over again.” 

Sicheng furrows his brows. Suddenly the rain is too loud and and the grey sky is annoying, and the magic isn’t there anymore. 

“Christ,” he says. It’s in these moments when he finds Jaehyun the least attractive. “What did I do wrong now?”

Jaehyun gives him a pointed look. “Four moths have passed and you _still_ talk back to your teacher.”

Sicheng huffs. “We’re peers.”

Jaehyun smiles. “Come on now, play this over again.”

Fingertips on the keys again, Sicheng plays. It’s a never-ending game of Jaehyun interrupting, explaining how he should play a certain part, and Sicheng trying not to get too annoyed by the remarks.

He thinks he’s making progress, though, because his annoyance is fickle now. He doesn’t feel irritation from within anymore, can’t possibly feel it when Jaehyun looks at him so earnestly.

“I think you’ve finally warmed up to Jaehyun,” Kun says when he has invited himself over to Sicheng’s apartment again. He rummages through Sicheng’s fridge and cupboard like he’s the owner of the house, pointing an accusatory finger at Sicheng.

“When have you last been to the store! All of your cupboards are empty.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes from where he’s lying on his sofa. “Well yes, Jaehyun and I have been acquainted for a while now.”

“And? You wouldn’t smile at him until last month.”

“Now that is simply not true.” 

“But it is,” Kun replies, “Do you really think I haven’t noticed you glaring daggers at him when he’s not looking? Poor oblivious man.”

Sicheng doesn’t have anything to say. “Have I really?”

Kun plops down next to him. “Yes, Sicheng. Although I do understand that your ego is big, we really can’t have you act so hostile to everyone who critiques you. We talked about this: Jaehyun is here to help you.”

“I know, I know.” Sicheng says.

Kun blinks. “If you know, then why continue acting like a child?”

“I’m a prideful man,” Sicheng replies.

Kun pinches his cheek. “You’re a kid.” 

Sicheng groans. “You’re butting way too much into my business for a manager.”

Kun’s laugh is loud. “Even after all these years you still call me your manager? You wound me, Sicheng, I thought we were friends. I don’t think only ‘managers’ would agree to spend their weekends here cooking their employers dinner.” He gives Sicheng’s hair a ruffle. 

Sicheng bites back a remark as a smile. He sits up from the couch and watches Kun cook. It’s the closest he’s felt to having a family member present in his life in years, considering both he and Kun are foreigners. It was the first thing that brought them together and made them bond, so no, Sicheng doesn’t see Kun as only his manager only, but he won’t tell Kun that. It’s an hour later when Kun finishes cooking him a marvellous dinner and they dine together while making small talk and drinking wine.

“Alright, back to manager duties,” Kun says after they’ve washed the plates. “This one orchestra has contacted me, saying they’re a pianist short and they would really like it if you could fill in. The pay is tremendous and they would be utmost grateful if you did.”

Sicheng hums. “What do they want me to play?”

“Rachmaninov’s Third Concerto.”

“And how much time do I have?”

“Less than a week.”

Sicheng’s eyes widen. “Huh? Kun, my friend, do you want me to _die_? There is in no way I can do this alone.”

“Well that’s why you have Jaehyun, haven’t you?”

Sicheng weighs his options: he can decline and move along with his day and prepare for the competition, or he can challenge himself and perform a beautiful piece he’s been meaning to learn anyway. Besides, the money… 

“I’ll do it.” He says in the end. “Give me Jaehyun’s home number.”

-

Jaehyun picks up on the third ring. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, Jaehyun. This is Sicheng.”

“Oh, Sicheng, good evening.”

“I’ll get straight to the point. I have a week to prepare for a concert. It’s Rachmaninov.”

“Is that so? Which piece?”

“The third concerto.”

“A beautiful one, yes. And I assume you’re calling me because…?”

“Don’t make me say it.” Sicheng almost pleads. It’s already embarrassing enough as it is, asking for help when he has so firmly denied needing it months ago. 

“Then I’ll just assume you’ve missed me and you want to relay me the good news.”

Sicheng laughs. “No, but, I do need your help. Six days is a short time.”

He can feel Jaehyun smile through the phone. “Only if you say please.”

“…Please.” 

“Alright.” Jaehyun says. His voice sounds melodic through the telephone, Sicheng can’t help but notice. Lately, Sicheng has been noticing many things about Jaehyun. 

“Come over to my place.”

“Right now?” Sicheng asks.

“We can’t waste any time now, can we?”

Sicheng writes down Jaehyun’s address and hails a cab minutes later. For once, he’s slightly nervous, but also kind of anticipating. There’s no traffic on the roads so he gets to Jaehyun’s apartment in no time. Jaehyun’s apartment looks just like him: modest but grand, not hiding its wealth and worth; medium-sized, neat, with wide windows and wallpapers of yellow tones that make all rooms appear warm. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling of the spacious living room with crown mouldings in each room. There’s a separate area with a piano that Jaehyun calls his personal music room. That room, in contrast to the rest of the apartment, is dusty and messy, with stacks of boxes and heaps of music sheets lying around everywhere, however the piano itself is in good shape. 

Jaehyun had greeted him with a wide smile plastered on his face and a, “I didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

Sicheng shrugged and asked to get down to business. Jaehyun led him to his music room right away, apologizing for its messiness.

“What are all these boxes?” Sicheng asks.

“They’re mostly sheet music and vinyl records. Lots of Chopin.” Jaehyun laughs. “Love his music.”

Sicheng nods. He opens his briefcase and takes out the sheet music Kun had given him. “Would your neighbours mind if we practiced late?”

“Not at all.” Jaehyun reassures. He brings a chair from the kitchen and sits down to Sicheng’s left. “Let’s begin.”

By the piano, time both slows down and runs rapidly at the same time. It flows at its own pace, abides by its own rules that Sicheng surely can’t explain, but he feels that he’s been running over the same notes for a few minutes now, but then his concentration shifts and he realizes it’s been hours. 

“It’s quite late,” Jaehyun states. “Would you like to stay here for the night? You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

It’s around three in the morning, and the metro is closed and taxis don’t run at the hour, so Sicheng agrees. Jaehyun makes him tea and they watch the dawn together over hushed whispers, and then after a yawn Sicheng retreats to slumber. Jaehyun’s room is modest and his covers smell just like the cologne he wears all the time, and Sicheng instantly falls asleep surrounded by the fragrance of fresh forests, thinking about how unusually comfortable he feels around Jaehyun.

He wakes at around half past ten to the smell of fresh ground coffee and the crackling sound of music on an old pathéphone. Jaehyun is sitting by the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in another, leg tapping to the beat of Big Band drums. Sunlight infiltrates the windows and illuminates the side of his face, makes his hair shine golden. When he lifts his gaze, his eyes glow like honey, and his smile looks other-earthly. 

“Good morning,” he says. “How you did sleep?”

Sicheng feels his heart speed up. “Very well, thank you.” 

Breakfast is a quick endeavour. In no time, Sicheng is by the piano again, practising scales. The next six days pass by in a blur: all spent at Jaehyun’s cozy apartment, with frequently exchanged smiles and polite conversations in between long hours of practice. Kun had brought Sicheng a spare change of clothes and all needed necessities, and left with a wish of good luck. With each passing day the sun rises earlier and the sunsets prolong beautifully, and with each passing day Sicheng practices more and more, spends more time with Jaehyun.

It’s an excruciatingly intense couple of days, with a gnawing bottle of anxiety buried somewhere deep inside Sicheng’s stomach, threatening to topple over with every second, but the stress redeems itself as worth it in the end – it always does. Jaehyun was kinder on him during their practices, more understanding to Sicheng’s higher stress levels. He was there to soothe Sicheng down, to massage his tense shoulder muscles, to make him tea at early in the morning and to tuck him into his covers. It’s crazy how fast or slow things can progress – over the five days Sicheng had grown closer to Jaehyun than he had in the span of five months. Perhaps it’s like a switch that’s been flipped inside of Sicheng, or it’s the result of physical intimacy and bonding under urgent circumstances, but Sicheng will never know.

Five days are spent bruising his finger pads and losing sleep, but the applause Sicheng receives after the performance is unmatched, and the compliments Jaehyun graces him with that day – he holds on to them for a lifetime.

“You were magnificent, Sicheng.” Jaehyun smiles like Sicheng has just discovered unknown stars and galaxies to humankind. It leaves Sicheng a bit breathless for reasons he doesn’t wish to know.

For once, there is no critique falling from Jaehyun’s lips, there are only congratulations and praise and Sicheng can’t deny that he’s addicted. Despite the exhaustion seeping through his bones, he’s grinning from ear to ear when Jaehyun gives him a hug backstage, and then the grin grows even broader when Jaehyun gives him flowers. 

“You didn’t have to,” Sicheng breathes out.

“I wanted to,” Jaehyun replies. “You deserve them, and even more. You did very well.”

Sicheng chats with the orchestra and the conductor for a while, but he can’t help but admire the bouquet from time to time. He’s received countless flowers throughout his career, ranging from simple roses to extravagant arrangements, so he doesn’t know why this one is different this time. It’s made of ordinary tulips, pink and yellow, but somehow, they look like the prettiest bouquet Sicheng has ever gotten. Maybe because it’s the closest he’s felt to being validated for his hard work in a while, which is silly because Sicheng is a genius and a brilliant pianist and he certainly doesn’t need validation, especially when he always receives it in forms of standing ovations and cheers. That’s what he tells himself – but Jaehyun’s smile, the way he wraps his arm around him – Sicheng likes it. With Jaehyun, somehow, it’s different. Perhaps because Jaehyun reminds him of his old piano teacher so much, or because Sicheng has started seeing him a new light: not as a tutor or a rival, perhaps something even more than a friend. Sicheng can’t explain it, but it makes him feel fuzzy. 

A fluttering feeling blooms in his chest akin to how the cherry blossoms bloom at this time of the month. It’s a rather familiar yet foreign feeling: Sicheng has experienced it once during his first college solo concert – it came in the form of white lilies and a bright smile – and he had concealed it ultimately, stored it in a box and threw away its key. This time his feelings are like a little growing sprout – Sicheng could either crush it or leave it be and let it bloom into a beautiful flower or wilt away naturally – and Sicheng wants to let them grow. 

“Let’s go home?” Jaehyun asks. “I can drop you off by your place.”

Sicheng shakes his head. “Let’s go to yours first. We should celebrate.”

Jaehyun smiles. “I do have a bottle of Moët in my cupboard.”

“Great,” Sicheng says. “We can drink and pass out and catch up on sleep.”

“We can do that,” Jaehyun laughs. “For how many night have we not slept?”

“Lost count,” Sicheng says, “I just want to get drunk.”

And drunk he gets. Jaehyun pops open one bottle of champagne, and then another, and by dusk Sicheng is more than tipsy. The sunset was a mix of oranges and pinks of clouds, the remnants of the cold winter sky still present but fading away. The ground warms just like Sicheng warms up to Jaehyun completely, traces of coldness being washed away and replaced by sun rays.

Jaehyun sits close to him on the couch, an arm wrapped around his waist. His face is flushed from having drunk so much, especially the apples of his cheeks and the ends of his ears, and Christ, he looks simply gorgeous. Sicheng can’t look away. He thinks, if he leans in, they could share a tender kiss. At that, Sicheng feels himself heat up, the parts of his body where Jaehyun is pressed close to him feeling as if on fire. It’s a ridiculous, drunk thought, and yet, Jaehyun does have pretty looking lips… They would most likely fit nicely against his own. 

“You alright?” Jaehyun asks, noticing Sicheng’s stillness.

“Yeah.” Sicheng realizes his throat has gone dry. Jaehyun gives him a pat on the back, looks into Sicheng’s eyes. Sicheng reaches a hand, it grazes Jaehyun’s cheek for a moment, but goes up to play with his hair. Jaehyun smiles at the touch and Sicheng wishes he were a little more bold. He would’ve pulled Jaehyun close and kissed him then. It would’ve been so easy, so simple, because Sicheng knows the way Jaehyun looks at him, he can guess how Jaehyun feels towards him, but sometimes he can’t understand possibly why. 

“Let’s have one more bottle?” he suggests.

Sicheng doesn’t remember how he ends up waking up to a warm body pressed close to him, hair tickling his face from where Jaehyun has his face hidden in the crook of Sicheng’s neck. Sicheng’s eyes fly wide open, and only now, fully sober, does he realize in which position he is in. There’s a weight on his stomach from where Jaehyun has his arm thrown over it. When the warm spring sunlight hits Sicheng in the face, he turns in a way that makes Jaehyun stir and raise his head, making their noses almost brush. Embarrassed, Sicheng holds his breath and turns away again, cheeks aflame. He feels Jaehyun tighten his grip on Sicheng’s waist and tells him to go back to sleep.

Once Jaehyun’s asleep again, Sicheng carefully removes Jaehyun’s arm from him, gets up and scrambles to the bathroom. He splashes cold water all over his face and checks for any marks or indications of anything that could’ve happened last night on his body. He finds none, packs his clothes, and leaves the apartment hastily. He slowly walks to the metro with his cheeks still burning and mind in a haywire. As soon as reaches his apartment, he lets out the biggest sigh he’s ever mustered and runs his hands through his hair repeatedly.

“Jesus Christ, just how much did we drink last night?”

He opts to give Kun a call. He meets with the man in a restaurant near the promenade a couple of hours later for lunch. 

“I think I’m quite losing my mind.” Sicheng says. 

“I heard most pianists’ minds go off the rails sooner or later.” Kun comments while cutting his fillet mignon, “It’s only a matter of time.”

Sicheng frowns. “You’re not the comedian you think you are.”

“Hah, maybe. However– did something happen?”

“Well… It’s Jaehyun, I guess.”

“Is he giving you a hard time again?”

“No.” Sicheng sips on his sparkling water, momentarily looking out of the window, at the flowing river. He can’t tell Kun he wishes they would’ve slept together. He can’t really tell Kun how kissable Jaehyun looked yesterday, how his eyes were bright and smile soft, how Sicheng wishes they were something more.

“Can you believe that only now I’ve noticed that he has prominent dimples when he smiles?”

-

Just like with the incident after the opera, Sicheng doesn’t talk about it. He assumes that when Jaehyun’s wasted, his memory depletes. Either that, or he is good at concealing personal matters. A professional, if one will. Their piano lessons continue as if nothing happened, as if Sicheng’s world hasn’t been turned upside down because of those two eventful evenings, as if Jaehyun hadn’t kissed Sicheng after the opera or hadn’t woken up beside him after they both had gotten drunk, as if Sicheng hadn’t almost given in and kissed him himself. Sicheng can’t shake it away from his mind. He feels like a teenager again, like a little boy finding out what attraction is for the first time. 

“Sicheng, stop. You’re distracted.” Jaehyun puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re making the same mistake over again.”

Sicheng pauses. He’s never distracted. Christ, why is he distracted? He blames it on Jaehyun’s dimples. 

“Let’s start over.” Jaehyun says. 

When Sicheng plays, he makes the same mistake over and over again. Like a broken record, he can’t get past the the same four bars. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaehyun asks. “You never make mistakes. What’s gotten you so distracted?”

Sicheng feels his bubble burst. “…You.” He murmurs.

Jaehyun’s eyes widen. “Me?”

“Yes, no, I mean, your dimples… I recently noticed you had them, and Christ.” 

“Oh,” Jaehyun reddens, then laughs. “I was worried it was something serious. Did you seriously only notice them now?”

“Don’t say anything,” Sicheng waves him off, embarrassed, but Jaehyun keeps laughing. 

“Sicheng, you’re incredible, do you know that?”

“You mock me.” Sicheng wails. He knows his ears are red from the way Jaehyun pinches them. It’s the wide grin on Jaehyun, the lingering touch he leaves on Sicheng’s face that makes Sicheng realize Jaehyun does in fact remember everything. Sicheng wishes he could reach out, trap his hand over Jaehyun’s, ask about everything, but instead he purses his lips and brushes Jaehyun’s hand away. 

“I’m not,” Jaehyun’s eyes are glowing. “It’s cute. You’re cute, however we really ought to focus on Liszt.”

Sicheng holds his gaze for a moment, trying to find out whether it’s adoration in it or something less, and nods.

-

“Kun,” Sicheng says inside the telephone booth. “I am definitely losing my mind.”

He hears Kun laugh despite the bad reception. “Sounds like you’re either really stressed or really smitten.”

Knowing Kun has seen right through him, Sicheng hangs up. 

-

It’s around the middle of June when Sicheng realizes he hasn’t seen Yuta that much. It’s been three months, four, maybe, since he has been to Yuta’s bar, even though he’d promised he’s visit it more often. Sicheng rides the metro and thinks of the piece he had promised to play for him, even if the promise is long overdue.

It’s funny; three months aren’t that long of a time, considering Sicheng doesn’t see him for months at times when he goes on tour, but Yuta looks different, somehow changed. His eyes look older and his face more mature, his hair is cut short and his posture is more tense, and his smile – his smile doesn’t look the same. It’s a sense of foreignness that Sicheng has never encountered before, with Yuta especially, although, maybe he looks different to Yuta, too.

“Sicheng!” Yuta exclaims. “It’s been years.”

Sicheng laughs. “Now, don’t exaggerate.”

“It certainly feels like so.” Yuta says. “Would I be foolish to think you came here to finally play?”

“No,” Sicheng smiles. “You wouldn’t be.”

Yuta’s smile broadens. “My, what an honour.”

It’s midday, so the bar is partially empty. The scattered around few people who are present in the bar don’t Sicheng any mind when he gets up on stage and plays a few pieces. Politely, they applause, but they don’t care who Sicheng is or what his profession is, and Sicheng likes it that way. Yuta is sitting by the table closest to the stage, his eyes shimmering and his smile never leaving his place. He urges Sicheng to play some more, and then leaves for a bit, only to return with his violin.

“Want to play a duet?”

Sicheng nods, and Yuta hops onto the makeshift stage. Yuta puts the violin under his chin, plays a few experimental notes.

“So you don’t mind being the accompaniment?” He teases. 

“No,” Sicheng smiles. “On the count of three?”

“Yeah. Canon in D? Do you remember it?”

“I think I do.” 

There are two types of musicians: ones who play with skill, and others who play with their soul. Sicheng is the former, someone who relies on his fingers and muscle memory alone, meanwhile Yuta, ultimately, is both. It’s a beautiful sight – seeing Yuta play. Even with his back turned to him, Sicheng can imagine how graceful and peaceful he looks while moves his bow across the instrument. Their audience has gone silent upon the sound of a second instrument, breaths stilled in anticipation.

Yuta finishes with a round of applause louder than the bar can handle. He grins as he turns back to Sicheng, interlaces their hands so both of them could bow together, and then Yuta drags him to the side of the bar so they could get a drink or two. 

If this had happened months earlier, Sicheng’s heart would have burst at the contact, but now, he doesn’t feel the thrill anymore. Nor does he feel the loss anymore when Yuta retreats his hand so he could stretch his arms. 

“That was so good!” Yuta says. “We should definitely perform more often.”

“We should.” Sicheng says.

Back in college, Yuta would play the violin a lot. He would talk about holding his own concert, where he would perform Bach and Strauss, and Sicheng always thought they would be in the industry together until the end. They made a promise to stick beside each other, sealed it over a firm handshake, and never broke it.

That’s why when Yuta announced of his plans of leaving music and opening a restaurant-bar instead, Sicheng was beyond angry. He felt ultimately betrayed, too used to Yuta being beside him in the conservatory and all the concert halls, and suddenly he was left alone backstage. He always imagined that until the end, he and Yuta would achieve stardom together. It felt exciting at first, to reach heights with your best friend. It didn’t feel as exciting to do so alone. Sicheng couldn’t understand why on Earth Yuta would leave his natural talent behind for a self-run business too risky to flourish and too likely to fail. 

He didn’t understand then, but he understands now. Dreams change, ambitions change, it’s a part of life. Yuta’s bar deemed to become more than successful over the years, and in a way, they’re still together as friends after all. Sicheng feels his dream change direction, too. Nothing stays the same.

“You were wrong,” Yuta states, “We could make a wonderful duo. Now, at least. You’ve changed.”

“Have I?” Sicheng smiles, “How so?”

“I can’t really explain it, but I feel it.” Yuta takes out a pack of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket, offers Sicheng one. Sicheng takes it and Yuta lights it for him. “It must be your piano instructor’s influence.” 

“You know,” Sicheng says, “ever since he has started tutoring me, I’ve never heard Jaehyun play. Not even once. Not even as an example for when he would correct me.”

“Is that so?” Yuta muses. “Then why on Earth are you listening to what he has to say to you?”

“Because I’ve met him before.” Sicheng answers. 

Yuta hums. “Really?”

Sicheng takes a drag of his cigarette. “Yes. Once. It had been a couple of years ago, in Zürich, I believe. It was the first time I had won silver.”

“I remember that,” Yuta says. “You were quite angry.”

“I was livid.” Sicheng laughs. “I was nineteen, and my ego was bruised. I had never lost before! But it made sense to me. When Jaehyun played, I knew I was no match for him. God, I remember that day so clearly. Chopin. Ballade number 1 in g minor. I was backstage, and it was loud as hell, but once Jaehyun played the first notes, everyone went dead quiet. I quickly made my way as close to the stage, and I listened. And I couldn’t look away. It was incredible, Yuta, the way his fingers moved so fluidly across the keys like a fish in water, the way his face looked so serene, and the sadness of Chopin… What a beautiful piece.”

“You sound quite smitten,” Yuta smiles. 

Sicheng doesn’t reply. He puts out his cigarette and crushes it in the ash tray. “Even back then, when I was fairly known, he still had no idea who I was. He came, stole the spotlight from me, got gold and left. Although after Zürich I never saw him in person… I remember I wanted to talk to him once, but after performing he always disappeared,” Sicheng laughs, “It’s funny, really. Every time we competed against each other, he always won. No matter how hard I worked or how many hours of practice I had put into everything, he still won. I wanted nothing more than to look him in the eye and tell him I wanted a rematch between him and I. But in the fleeting moment when we actually crossed paths after the award ceremony, I understood I could never despise him.”

Yuta laughs. “Honestly, that sounds unbelievable.”

Sicheng nods. He drums his fingers against the bar island in a soundless melody. They tap Bach’s etude on the redwood of the island, out of muscle memory. Yuta watches him with curious eyes. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking of going to Jaehyun’s place right now.”

Yuta gives him a knowing smile. “You like him, don’t you.”

Sicheng bites on the inside of his cheek. “Maybe… Maybe not.”

“God! Now I know why you seem different. You’re in love!” Yuta dives to give Sicheng a hug and to ruffle his hair. “In love! I never thought this moment would come. What a wonderful day it is!”

Sicheng squirms, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not…”

“Don’t deny it.” Yuta pinches his cheek. His smile makes him shine. 

“Sicheng,” he says, “be my best man at my wedding. And please do invite Jaehyun as your plus one.” 

“You’re getting married?”

“Yes.” Yuta grins. “Yes!”

“Christ,” Sicheng says, noticing the silver ring adorning Yuta’s finger. “We’re getting old. We ought to celebrate!” And he orders a bottle of wine.

-

The subway train screeches loudly against the rails. Sicheng leans on the door and searches for the sadness within his heart, but he finds nothing but happiness for his long-time friend. Sicheng takes it as a good sign – as a sign that he’s moved on, or maybe he wasn’t pining in the first place. 

Sicheng thinks about it all: maybe he mistook his feelings as attraction, for something as more than platonic, because Yuta was the only friend he had in his adolescent years at the time. Sicheng was a lonely child growing up, it would only be natural for him to develop some kinds of feelings for someone his age who cared for him. But the more thinks about it, the more he’s sure it wasn’t love. Not romantic love, at least. 

The train passes by a river and Sicheng gazes at the setting sun from the window of the train cabin. It lowers itself slowly, uncaring of the fast-paced world around it, and when the sun rays pierce his eyes, Sicheng squints at the brightness. The river reflects the light blue and yellow tones from the sky, mirrors the fluffy clouds that shine in pink. Sicheng engraves the image into his mind as if he were an artist yearning to replicate the sight, but the train takes off and the painting disappears as Sicheng enters a tunnel. 

He hasn’t been to Jaehyun’s apartment in a while, only twice since the day he got scared of their close proximity and ran away after the concert. Once he visited to pack up the remainder of his things, and then once again because Jaehyun invited him to listen to his vinyl collection. It was a very pleasant evening; Jaehyun has a versatile collection of records, ranging from classical, to jazz and blues and swing. He had put on Glenn Miller and Miles Davis, and after a few more songs put on Chopin.

“There’s something about his melancholy that resonates with me,” he said. “Sometimes I put on his music and think… reflect… There’s a lot you can think about while listening to Chopin.”

As Sicheng walks up the stairs of Jaehyun’s apartment block and right up to his door – he hears music. Loud, colourful, sorrowful music. Chopin, to be exact. Although, Sicheng is sure the music isn’t coming from Jaehyun’s old pathéphone. The sound is too clear and the volume is too loud, which can only mean one thing...

Sicheng quietly stands in front of the door and listens to Jaehyun play piano. The thin walls don’t conceal the volume with which Jaehyun is pressing onto the keys, nor are they concealing the intense emotion the music conveys. Sicheng stands and listens, listens to Jaehyun express himself. He can hear sadness, regret, maybe, frustration…. 

Jaehyun has been right all along: music is more than just pressing black and white keys, it’s more than just having skill and impressive technique – it’s about putting music into words, images, emotions; crafting a story from underneath your fingertips, sharing the composer’s passion with the world… If Sicheng is the greatest pianist of the new generation, then Jaehyun is on another pedestal, completely out of grasp and out of reach. Sicheng stands, and when Jaehyun starts playing prelude in E minor, he feels tears streaming down his cheeks. 

He leans on the wall and closes his eyes. The way Jaehyun plays – it’s simply incredible. He creates artwork with just his hands, paints Sicheng’s black and white with millions of colours, takes Sicheng’s breath away, just like six years ago. 

Time flies, but things don’t change, Sicheng thinks. He feels like bursting, a little too overwhelmed by the emotions that suddenly crashed onto him. He can’t seem to stop crying silently. He hasn’t let out a single tear in years as a result of repressing and bottling up all the negativity he endured over the years, but now, supposedly, he can’t bring himself to stop, so he just lets them flow. He doesn’t notice Jaehyun stop halt in his playing, or the sound of the piano lid being closed or the vibrations of footsteps until he hears the door open.

“Sicheng?” Jaehyun asks, surprised. “What’re you– Oh my.”

Jaehyun pulls him close. “Don’t cry, my goodness, don’t cry. Have you been standing here for long? Why are you here? Are you okay? I had a feeling someone was at my door, but I didn’t expect to see you here… Goodness.” He cups Sicheng’s cheeks, wipes his tears away with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” Sicheng says, “I don’t know what overcame me.”

“Shhh, don’t you dare apologize,” Jaehyun says, pulling Sicheng in a tight embrace. 

It’s the tenderness in Jaehyun’s eyes that makes Sicheng pull away slightly, feeling hot and overwhelmed. “You play so beautifully.”

Jaehyun smiles. His touch on Sicheng’s face is warm and comforting. He makes soothing motions to calm Sicheng down meanwhile Sicheng stares at his dimples. After Sicheng stops sniffing, Jaehyun pulls him close again.

“You know what I think? You’re the beautiful one,” he murmurs. Sicheng stiffens a little when he feels Jaehyun press a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Sicheng says. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Your prelude in E minor…”

Jaehyun laughs, “So you heard me? Ah, that’s quite a silly question. The walls here are thin – I’m sure you have.”

He takes Sicheng by the hand to his music room, their palms pressed together, where the piano shines in the moonlight. He sits by the instrument. 

“I never thought I would hear you play again.” Sicheng says quietly. Jaehyun looks up from the piano. His eyes sparkle in the night. He smiles, running his palm over the keys.

“There is truly no sadder piece than this prelude.” He says.

“Why did you quit?” Sicheng can’t help but ask. That question has been tormenting him for so long. He leans down on the side of the grand piano, “You could’ve had it all – fame, money. You _did_ have it all at some point. What are you doing, wasting your potential and ultimate talent by instructing snobby and foolish pianists?” Jaehyun laughs a little and looks down at the piano.

“I didn’t like the attention,” he explains. “You see, Sicheng, I never cared about the fame I got. I just loved music, and I loved playing. As simple as that. But then the concerts, the competitions, the pressure… I couldn’t handle it. I never wanted that. I just wanted to play for myself, for my family, for my friends. My grandma pushed me into the spotlight, and at first I was fine, but then I realized I had stage fright. Imagine the irony! A pianist who can’t play on stage. Oh, the shame! My grandma calls me her biggest pride as well her biggest disgrace. The last concert I held, I had a panic attack before performing, I didn’t want to play at all and barely held it together on stage. And in the last competition I participated in, meanwhile sitting by the piano, it felt as if I forgot all the notes… when I pressed the keys, I couldn’t hear them at all. I felt like passing out! 

“So after that I packed my things and ran. Changed my name, moved countries, changed careers. I’m more than content with being just a piano instructor. I’m not in the spotlight but I’m still doing something. As a former pianist who has been taught by violent teachers I know the way children should be treated. I know that it’s better to use your voice than a ruler. Besides, I like… working with you. Come, sit with me.” Jaehyun scoots over, and when Sicheng sits next to him on the stool, their knees touch.

“Is that why you never played in front of me?”

“Partially, yes, but also because you made me a little bit nervous.”

“Me?” Sicheng asks, bewildered. “Why?”

“I mean, you are kind of a big deal in the industry.”

Sicheng grabs Jaehyun’s hand and squeezes it hard. “Ever since I heard you play in Zürich, Jaehyun, I…” he hesitates, the words of a confession dying at the tip of his tongue. Instead he says, “Can I ask you of something?”

Jaehyun hums.

“Can you play for me again?”

“I can try.”

He takes a deep breath and plays Debussy. Sicheng looks at how the moon’s light hits Jaehyun’s face in a silver glow, how it makes his hair appear soft and eyes shiny… Sicheng looks at his beautiful hands that are shaking even though Jaehyun’s expression looks serene and composed. And then, Jaehyun closes his eyes, and Sicheng notices how Jaehyun tunes everything out, submerging himself into the melody completely. 

Sicheng feels like he’s falling, undeniably and helplessly. He can’t take his eyes off Jaehyun for even a second, too enchanted. His heart rate speeds up, and he feels himself blush. How had he not fallen in love sooner? 

“What are you feeling right now?” Jaehyun asks after he finishes the piece.

“Why the sudden question?”

Jaehyun shrugs. “I like to think that every pianist interprets a piece uniquely. I wonder though, if the listener understands what the pianist is trying to convey, what the composer is trying to convey…” 

Sicheng thinks: whatever he’s feeling, he can’t put it into words.

His emotions are too intangible and abstract, too much of a cluster and a haywire, he can’t unravel them at all. He feels a bit heavy, but also light, he feels alleviated but also confused. But at the same time his feelings are vivid and clear; he feels… He looks at Jaehyun’s lips, then lifts his gaze back to his alluring eyes. Jaehyun’s eyes are always kind, his touch on Sicheng’s hand is always tender, his smile is always soft. He squeezes their joins hands again. 

“I don’t know,” Sicheng answers after a moment, his voice in barely a whisper, although he’s sure he knows. 

“That’s okay,” Jaehyun replies. He puts his head on Sicheng’s shoulder. His hair tickles Sicheng’s cheek a little.

“Is this okay?” he asks. “Us being this close?”

“Yes,” Sicheng whispers. He lifts his hand to pat Jaehyun’s head gently. It’s so nice to hold Jaehyun in his arms like this. “It’s more than okay.”

-

It’s a few weeks later when Sicheng thinks about that night. He had felt so vulnerable and exposed, and Jaehyun had made him feel so safe, and he had the perfect opportunity to profess his growing feelings when Jaehyun was looking at him so warmly, he _almost_ slipped and had professed, but he held it in. 

It’s excruciatingly difficult though, to keep his feelings hidden, when he sees Jaehyun nearly every single day, and with each day his heart aches more and more with want. He wants Jaehyun to hold his hand, hug him, hold him, kiss him, and it’s driving Sicheng mad. It drives him mad, because he doesn’t know when or how or why his feelings for Jaehyun have developed from dislike to limerence. He shouldn’t feel these things for Jaehyun, for Jaehyun is his _rival_ , but he _does_ , and he doesn’t want to stop feeling them at all. 

The piano is his only anchor to reality. Sicheng plays piano more and more with each day, trying to suppress his feelings, trying to focus on winning. His fingers pads are bruised and bandaged, but he plays nonetheless. He plays until the sun sets and stars start twinkling through the window, until he hears his telephone ring.

“Hello?” Sicheng says.

“Hi, Sicheng.” Jaehyun says, “I’m hoping you’re resting?”

“…”

“It’s late. We have finished our practice hours ago.”

“I know.”

“Are you stressed?”

“No.”

“Then why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

Sicheng thinks. “Because I have to be perfect.”

“Why?” 

It’s a difficult question. At first, Sicheng wanted to be perfect, to excel, to prove his piano teacher and other instructors wrong, that he was more than capable and could be a renowned pianist, then, to make a career out of his hard work, to make money and achieve stardom. But now, when he has all the validation and money he’s always wanted, he wonders why he’s putting so much sweat and tears when he’s already at the top, wonders of all of it is worth it.

“It’s easy to get thrown off balance and off the spotlight. Easy to get replaced. If I relax for even a second, someone either younger or more talented than me will come, and I’ll lose everything. I can’t risk it,” he says. 

“Perfection is subjective. Unachievable, really.”

“I know. But I’ll work as hard as I can to be the closest to perfection as possible.”

“In my eyes you are as perfect as a person can be.”

Sicheng laughs at that. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.”

“…”

“You’re a wonderful pianist, Sicheng.”

“Thank you,” Sicheng replies after a moment. “It’s quite late. I must go. Goodnight, Jaehyun.” 

And he hangs up. He wants to believe what Jaehyun says is true. He _knows_ it’s true, from what his fans and newspapers say, from all his concerts and standing ovations, but Sicheng can’t help but feel otherwise. He puts the telephone down and goes outside for a smoke. 

He wakes to the sounds of birds chirping and the coffee machine in the corner of the room grumbling. Sicheng hadn’t noticed how he had fallen asleep on the couch of his music room, moreover he doesn’t remember having a coat draped over him like a blanket. He stirs and sees a figure by the machine.

“Jaehyun? Why are you here?”

Jaehyun hums. “Good morning, sunshine. I thought you said you were going to go home last night?”

Sicheng groans. “Coffee isn’t allowed in the room. It might get onto the pianos. What time is it?”

“Around eleven.”

“Christ, I overslept.” Sicheng gets up and looks at himself in the mirror that’s hanging on the wall above the couch. His eye bags have worsened and his hair is a mess. He looks just like his usual self after his countless exhausting tours: half-dead, half-alive. 

“Coffee?” Jaehyun jokes, offering a cup. 

Sicheng grunts but accepts it nonetheless. The taste is too bitter for his liking, but he forces himself to gulp it down. He steals a glance at Jaehyun, who is stacking up Sicheng’s sheet music which is in a disarray while humming a tune quietly. He’s wearing a light shirt and his hair looks exceptionally soft today. Sicheng kind of wants to run his finger through the locks. 

“Do you sing?” he asks.

“Sometimes,” Jaehyun says. “I don’t remember if I told you this, but after I quit piano I took up singing for a while. That’s how I met Taeil, actually. He gave me a lot of advice, said I was a natural,” Jaehyun laughs.

Sicheng cracks a smile, “Bet you were great at solfeggio.”

“Oh, I was,” Jaehyun says. He meets Sicheng’s gaze and smiles back warmly, in a way that makes Sicheng feel giddy all over. “I was good at music literature and music theory as well. Always got As on dictations, the teachers loved me. I loved the conservatory; I truly felt at home.” 

There are two kinds of people in this world: those, who have a natural talent that gets recognised at an early age, that gets nurtured and that blooms into something beautiful, and then there are those who work themselves to the bone for that talent to only sprout. Jaehyun, unmistakably, is the first, and Sicheng, who is admittedly the second, would usually despise people like Jaehyun – people, who get everything so easily in this world, people, who get handed opportunities on a silver platter without lifting as much of a finger thanks to their natural talent.

Maybe if they never went beyond a mentor-student relationship, Sicheng would’ve loathed him, but because he knows Jaehyun, he knows his reasons and his past, he can’t bring himself to even feel an ounce of resentment towards him, even though Jaehyun constantly nitpicks at Sicheng’s flaws that Sicheng is forced to confront. Maybe if it were another person, Sicheng would’ve hated them from the very first day for even daring to question his abilities, but because it’s Jaehyun – he can’t. Jaehyun, who is impossibly sweet and caring, who is so so talented and kind, Jaehyun, whom Sicheng is undoubtedly smitten with. 

“How’s the coffee?” Jaehyun asks.

“Bitter as hell,” Sicheng replies. 

“It’ll help you wake up. What do you say we rake a stroll around Gorky park?”

“Sounds ridiculous,” Sicheng says. “Let’s do it.”

In the evening the dancing fountains play the Waltz of the Flowers, while Sicheng sits on a bench nearby and loses himself in the music with Jaehyun beside him. Jaehyun looks peaceful; the warm summer breeze blows at his hair and quite frankly, he looks pretty in the setting sun. 

“Is there a reason why you insist on taking me out all around the city?”

“There’s no better way to relax than to get your mind off everything. Admit it, you feel better, right? And besides, I like spending time with you.” 

Jaehyun glows with pinks and oranges Sicheng has never seen before, shines with the fading sun rays that caress his face gently. He looks like a Monet painting at times, Sicheng thinks. Today is definitely one of those times. He smiles. 

-

It’s the beginning of August when Sicheng cracks. Burns out like a matchstick. Slowly, bottled up tension overflows, and no matter how hard he tries to keep it in, he can’t. It bursts with a pop.

He bangs on the keys, the dissonance resonating throughout the entire room.

“I can’t!” He says loudly, “I can’t fucking do this!”

“Yes, you can,” Jaehyun says calmly. “You just need to relax. Put more emotion on the last bar, play it a bit louder.”

“I don’t understand,” Sicheng rambles, “I don’t fucking understand how to do it. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to sound not ‘grey’. I can’t, Jaehyun, I _can’t_.”

“Calm down,” Jaehyun puts a hand on Sicheng’s shoulder, but Sicheng moves away, exasperation filling him up. 

“No,” Sicheng says, “how can I be calm when I can’t do the simplest thing?! How can I just go out on the stage and play so _blandly_ and _colourlessly_ like a whole idiot. I’ve been doing it for years, Jaehyun, for actual years. Playing like I always knew, relying on skill, and I was okay. I was doing more than okay. I buried all the comments my former teacher threw at me, and I was fine! But then you came along, and everything just resurfaced, and I get reminded how empty my playing is everything single lesson and I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t change it, okay?” Sicheng buries his face in his hands, “I can’t change myself.”

He feels himself being pulled into an embrace. Jaehyun pulls him close, so that their heartbeats are aligned. He runs his hand up and down Sicheng’s back, and Sicheng simply just wants to cry. 

“I am not your former teacher.” Jaehyun whispers. “I don’t know what she said to you for you to think so lowly of yourself, but I am not her.”

“She said exactly what you keep saying to me,” Sicheng says, “I can’t get her words out of my mind, especially when what you say is so similar. It makes me lose my mind sometimes. I want to move and forget, but I _can’t_.”

Jaehyun says, “I’m sorry.”

Sicheng feels a tear slip. “It’s alright, you both are right anyway. Nothing to apologize for.”

“Sicheng, listen to me, your playing is not empty. You play beautifully.”

It might be the gentleness of Jaehyun’s voice that makes Sicheng feel bitter, because something inside him clicks and he feels extremely angry. He pulls away from Jaehyun’s worried gaze. 

“No, Jaehyun, be honest. You _know_ the way I play more than anyone. You _know_ I can’t put my soul into the keys. Not everyone is like you. Not everyone is naturally gifted, not everyone is so talented and likeable and charming and– Christ. This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. You have no idea how much I want to despise you. Not only did you have everything you ever wanted in your grasp, within an arm’s reach, but you threw everything away and disposed of it so easily and it makes me _angry_. You have so much talent within you, so much potential, so much love for music, and yet you’re sitting here, your career buried and nonexistent. It makes me sick. You’re a pianist, Jaehyun, a phenomenal pianist, you shouldn’t be sitting here tutoring people– God! There’s nothing worse than wasted potential. I resent such people – who give up. But… But I can’t possibly hate you.” 

There’s silence for a second. Jaehyun looks at him with a gaze Sicheng can’t quite decipher. 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Jaehyun pulls him by the collar of the shirt and into a kiss. 

“You infuriate me sometimes,” he says when their lips part. Jaehyun cups Sicheng’s cheek with one hand.

“Yeah?” Sicheng sniffles, but he’s smiling. “I get that a lot, honestly.”

Jaehyun kisses him again. 

“How many times should I keep telling you that you’re perfect until you finally hear me?” he asks.

Sicheng whispers in between kisses, “Many times.”

“Then I shall do just that,” Jaehyun responds, voice velvety. “I’m being honest, Sicheng, because I know how to play I know that you’ve made immense progress since January. You’ve truly come a long way…” he tucks Sicheng’s stray hair behind his ear and sighs, “You know you’re an excellent pianist, yet you still underestimate yourself. It saddens me. Where did your arrogance go? Confidence suited you a lot.”

“I thought arrogance was an unattractive trait.”

Jaehyun grins, “Not when it comes to you. It made you look quite hot.”

Sicheng laughs and melts against Jaehyun’s side as Jaehyun wraps an arm around him. “You’re too good to me. Too good.”

“Maybe so,” Jaehyun laughs. “I just want the best for you. I see myself in you.”

“We are quite similar, I suppose.”

Jaehyun says, “Don’t you dare withdraw or quit, ever. Don’t be like me.”

“Do you regret it? Leaving music?”

“Sometimes.” Jaehyun replies. He intertwines his and Sicheng’s fingers. “My family gives me a lot of shit for abandoning piano to this day, when I all did was give up the spotlight for somebody who wants it,” he nudges Sicheng’s side and Sicheng grins.

“Because you want it, right?”

“I do.”

“Then go out there and win.”

-

It doesn’t come off as a surprise to anyone, especially to himself, when Sicheng smiles to the camera with a trophy in his arms, and yet, Sicheng feels like he’s won for the first time in years. He shakes hands with all of the contestants and judges, signs autographs for fans, talks with interviewers. He receives endless praise for this hard work, countless flower bouquets and applause. Sicheng almost feels people came solely for him, but he looks around. The contestants, just like him, receive bouquets, medals, certificates, they smile brightly to the crowd and to their families.

Sicheng is not the only twinkling star in the sky, and the world doesn’t revolve around him. He is simply one of the infinite stars in the universe, all which have their own story and path to success. Or maybe, people are the Suns of their own Milky Way. 

“You played perfectly,” is the first thing Jaehyun says to him. “Note perfect.” He smiles, gives Sicheng a kiss. 

Sicheng laughs, “It’s how the judges wanted me to play. Standardly. Isn’t that what these stupid competitions are all about?”

“They really are. I’ve heard how the judges are impressed with the way you played. I’m very proud of you.” 

“It’s all thanks to you,” Sicheng says, “I wouldn’t be holding this trophy if it wasn’t for you. Hell, I would probably be banned from competitions altogether. Though I wonder; how did you even manage to win competitions with your individualistic way of playing?”

Jaehyun shrugs. “I guess the judges weren’t offended by my interpretations. You can say I was extremely lucky.”

Sicheng hums. “The hell do these judges know, honestly? Alfred Cortot would’ve been an abomination in their eyes.” 

“It’s saddening, really.” Jaehyun says. “The industry is killing off the interest of many skilled and talented young people.”

“Some say a genius’ spirit can’t be crushed. That they won’t give up.”

“That’s bullshit. People’s minds are fragile. Geniuses are people, too, after all. Teachers nowadays should stop with the verbal and physical abuse on poor students. Just imagine how many talented souls have turned away from music by such methods of teaching…”

“You’re doing the right thing by teaching, then.” Sicheng says.

Jaehyun gives him a smile. “Thank you.”

“I was wrong about you,” Sicheng admits. “I thought that by leaving the stage you were making a grave mistake of wasting your talent, but you’re using it to guide new generations to music. It’s wonderful.”

“Right? Retirement is not so bad after all.”

Sicheng nods. “I’m thinking about retiring, too.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I believe that in life, when you do something, a time comes when you reach a peak of your career. And after that peak, comes a decline. Here, in playing piano professionally, I’ve already achieved the highest of the heights. I’ve got it all – recognition, money, you – but what next? I can’t go for more, because I already have everything. That’s where the decline comes. Sooner or later, things are bound to go downhill. It’s better to climb down the mountain yourself instead of tumbling down at an unexpected moment. I’ve nothing left to prove to anyone. Not to my teachers, not to myself. I like where I am now. I feel accomplished for once. And I’m so so tired.”

“That sounds good to me. Wait— me?”

Sicheng laughs. “Yeah, don’t I?”

“You do,” Jaehyun lowers his voice, “you do.”

“Good.” Sicheng presses Jaehyun close to him and gives him a kiss on the lips. 

From the distance, Sicheng can see Kun and Yuta approaching him towards the backstage. Yuta gives him a hug and Kun bows.

“I didn’t think you guys would come,” Sicheng expresses. “Thank you.”

“Of course we would,” Yuta beams. “How could we miss you winning your fiftieth-something trophy?” 

Sicheng smiles shyly. In this atmosphere between his best friend, brother-figure and partner, surrounded by the sound of music and blinding lights, he feels like he belongs.

-

Sicheng can barely hold himself up from the way Jaehyun has his hands on his waist and mouth on his neck.

“Ah,” Sicheng whines, “At least lock the door. You’re so impatient.”

“I can’t help it,” Jaehyun says against his neck, “You have no idea how handsome you looked today.”

Sicheng tries not to laugh. “Let me turn off the lights. Put my trophy down. Take off my blazer. It’s too hot in here.”

Jaehyun reluctantly pulls back. His lips are still red and puffy from when they were making out in the elevator to his apartment. After the competition, when they were both alone, Jaehyun had asked Sicheng if he wanted to come home with him for the night. Sicheng had agreed, and Jaehyun quickly hailed a cab. They gazed at the windows to their sides, but their hands were intertwined in the middle.

As soon as they entered the apartment block, Jaehyun pulled him in by the waist and leaned in for a kiss. Sicheng tangled his hands in Jaehyun’s soft hair, letting out a small gasp when Jaehyun ran his tongue other his bottom lip and bit on it lightly. Sicheng had pulled away in surprise and fear of being caught by neighbours, although it was nearing one in the morning and everybody was asleep.

Even when Sicheng takes his blazer off, the room still feels hot. It might be because of Jaehyun’s body being pressed so close to his, or because it’s August at its peak right now outside. 

“You should invest in an air conditioner, or a fan,” Sicheng says quietly into the crook of Jaehyun’s neck. Jaehyun runs his hands up and down Sicheng’s torso, kissing him breathless.

“It’s not every summer I get to make out with pretty pianists,” he says, voice hoarse.

Sicheng hums. “With your charm, I might as well have thought you did.”

Jaehyun trails kisses down Sicheng’s neck, right to his exposed collar bone from where his shirt is half unbuttoned. Sicheng squirms a little, feeling a bit too lightheaded, tightening his grip on Jaehyun’s waist when Jaehyun bites down.

“You like it when I bite you, don’t you?”

“Mm, it feels good.” Sicheng replies. “I didn’t think it would feel this good.”

Jaehyun says, “We should probably talk about us.”

“We should, later,” Sicheng says. “Right now, take this shirt off me.”

Under the moonlight’s glow, it’s not hard to stumble into the bedroom without tripping over anything. Sicheng lies on his back as Jaehyun gets on top of him, lips on lips in an instant. 

“You know”, Sicheng murmurs, their breaths mingling, “I wonder if we slept together that night when we both got drunk. After that stressful concert.”

“We didn’t,” Jaehyun says. “You got too wasted. You were seconds from knocking out so I dragged you to bed, however you sleepily grabbed my wrist and didn’t let it go. So I stayed the night. It felt good to sleep in my bed for the first time in a week, too,” he laughs.

“Ah, I am sorry,” Sicheng says, “It must’ve been an uncomfortable week for you.”

“It was a wonderful week for me,” Jaehyun corrects, “considering your heart thawed and we grew so close. You wanted to kiss me that day, didn’t you?”

Sicheng smiles a little, and Jaehyun kisses him then. 

“I feel extremely bad for being so hostile towards you in the beginning,” he admits, “You didn’t deserve my anger.”

“No, I get it,” Jaehyun says, “I would’ve been upset, too.”

When Sicheng looks him in the eye, he sees stars.

“You wouldn’t have been,” he says, “you’re too kind like that. Too rational. Too good. Ah–” Sicheng trails off when Jaehyun prods his tongue into his mouth, shutting him up. He steadies his hands over Jaehyun’s toned arms, arches his back when Jaehyun kisses him deeper.

“You’re perfect,” Jaehyun whispers against his lips, “So perfect. I’ve never known a person as perfect at you.”

“I’m stubborn,” Sicheng says, “Prideful. Short-tempered. Insecure. There are so many faults within me.”

“You’re beautiful,” Jaehyun retaliates, “Hardworking. Passionate. Dedicated. Strong-willed. Your faults don’t define you, but they’re part of you, and with each day I love you more and more.”

Sicheng rolls them over. Under him, Jaehyun looks flushed. Eyes wide, hair unkempt, lips swollen. For a moment, Sicheng wonders if he would’ve seen such a sight sooner, were he more friendly and less oblivious to his attraction. He thinks it doesn’t matter anymore. Sicheng leans down to kiss Jaehyun for the many times throughout the night. 

He once had wondered whether he had the world underneath his fingertips. With Jaehyun being so responsive to his touches, he knows the answer now.

Sicheng wakes to the familiar weight slung over his body. This time, he doesn’t bother shake Jaehyun off of him. Instead, he basks in the tranquility of the morning, takes in the serene expression Jaehyun has on his sleeping face, watches the steady ride and fall of his chest. Sicheng props himself up on one elbow and plays with Jaehyun’s hair on his neck until the latter slowly flutters his eyes open.

“Good morning.”

“Mm,” Jaehyun says, eyes closing again, “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Of course,” Sicheng smiles, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jaehyun beams and pulls Sicheng close for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and Jaehyun pulls back with so much love in his eyes Sicheng feels dizzy. 

“You have no idea how happy I am,” Jaehyun says. “I’ve been dreaming about his for so long.”

“Have you?” Sicheng cradles Jaehyun’s face with his palms, kisses Jaehyun’s foreheads, then his closed eyelids, each cheek, nose, and then mouth. “I have, too.”

Sicheng makes breakfast for the both of them. It’s a pleasant feeling, having Jaehyun hug him from behind and put his chin on his shoulder. Sicheng cracks a smile. “Put some music on,” he suggests.

Jaehyun presses a kiss to Sicheng’s cheek and puts on ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’. The sounds of drums and trumpets fill the apartment as well as the smell of ground coffee beans and sunny side up eggs. Jaehyun sits by the table and reads his morning newspaper, humming to the music. Sicheng smiles to himself. He could get used to mornings like this.

In the afternoon Jaehyun takes him out to lunch in the centre of the city, in a quaint restaurant with a view on the river, and then they stroll back and forth the promenade, the warm summer breeze caressing their faces. 

The August sky is clear and the Sun is bright, and Jaehyun asks him, “Sicheng, move in with me.”

Sicheng’s eyes widen.

“I’m serious. I don’t care if we’re moving too fast. I’ve waited for so long for this, for you to be mine, for me to have you in my arms without you pulling away. I don’t think I can be apart from you, Sicheng, not when I know what it’s like to have you close. Please, be mine.”

Sicheng takes Jaehyun’s hand in his. “You needn’t ask, for I am already yours.” 

-

Sicheng’s announcement of a hiatus is shocking news to the world. It’s all over the newspaper headlines and broadcasting channels.

“Was it necessary to have such a pompous grand exit?” Kun asks, helping Sicheng pack his suitcase. 

“What was I supposed to say? The interviewer asked about my plans for the next concert, I told her my only plan so far is an indefinite break.”

“You’re too rash,” Kun sighs. “At least you didn’t say you were retiring right away.”

“That would be too much of a shock,” Sicheng laughs. “I might change my mind in the end, too. I love the piano too much.”

“If would be nice you did,” Kun says, “What am I to do without you?”

“Manage a younger pianist. A less brattier one, maybe,” Sicheng grins. “It’s not like you’ll never see me again. I’m only taking a month-long vacation.”

“I’m glad you’re taking some time off.” Kun helps Sicheng close the suitcase. “You deserve a break.” 

“Thank you, Kun,” Sicheng gives him a hug. Kun drives him to the airport. There’s little traffic in the afternoon, and Sicheng gets to his gate an hour before the flight. He spots Jaehyun sitting by the gate, reading a newspaper. Sicheng sits beside him. Jaehyun gives him a smile.

“Glad you made it,” he says. “You’re right on time. Boarding is about to start.”

“Punctuality is my strong point,” Sicheng says. “Shall we get going?”

Time in Zürich flows slower compared to the rest of the world. During the time Sicheng had last been there, nothing has changed. With Jaehyun’s hand loosely in his, Sicheng strolls around the Zürich lake. The summer air is hot, but it’s much cooler by the water. Jaehyun watches seagulls fly over their heads and Sicheng watches him. He squeezes their hands, and Jaehyun turns to give him a smile.

“This feels symbolic,” Jaehyun comments in a restaurant they walked into on Bahnhofstrasse, when the Sun long has set. “We met here, practically, and now we’re back here again. Time flies, yet not much has changed at all.”

“We changed,” Sicheng says. “We changed a lot.”

Jaehyun sighs, “We really did.” 

Sicheng brings their glasses of wine together for a toast. “For you, Jaehyun. For your health and well-being. I hope you’ll be happy, always.”

Jaehyun clinks the glasses with a small smile and then takes a sip. The music of the restaurant fills up the silence between them while they focus on their dishes, most pleasantly so. Lounge music is something Sicheng has always favoured. In the cozy atmosphere, alongside the delicious food, Sicheng looks at the way Jaehyun carefully chews on his steak, hands cutting it carefully, the way his soft hair falls onto his eyes and cheeks puffs out cutely, dimples showing, and feels himself fall in love all over again. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jaehyun asks once he notices Sicheng staring.

Sicheng shakes his head, a smile on his face. He smiles wider at the way Jaehyun’s ears redden from the attention. He leans over the table to give Jaehyun a kiss. “Nothing, really. Just you and the night and the music.”

Jaehyun smiles. “It’s a wonderful night, isn’t it?”

“It quite is.” Sicheng sighs. “I wish it would last forever.”

He sees Jaehyun fidget in his seat. 

“Is something the matter?”

“I got you something,” Jaehyun says. He gets out a red velvet box from his coat and pushes it towards Sicheng. Sicheng opens it and his eyes widen upon the sight of a glimmering silver ring. 

“Oh, Jaehyun, are you proposing?”

“If not for the laws of this land,” Jaehyun laughs, “I would be. But because I can’t– we can’t– think of it as a promise ring instead. You don’t have to accept, I know we haven’t been together for long, but I know for sure that you’re the one for me. It can only be you.”

“Ah,” Sicheng says as he puts the ring on his fourth finger. He grins, “If not for the laws of this land, I would say yes in a heartbeat.”

Jaehyun brings their hands together, slots his finger in the spaces between Sicheng’s as their palms touch. He admires the ring on Sicheng’s finger and gives it a tender kiss. Under the dim lighting of the restaurant, he glows with unfiltered happiness. Sicheng has never seen Jaehyun look this way before. 

“That’s all I needed to know,” Jaehyun says. 

Sicheng thinks, no successful performance could ever compare to this: to the lounge atmosphere of the restaurant, to the sound of the dull lapping waves of the lake outside the window on a quiet summer night, to the way Jaehyun’s ring glows on his hand from the candle in the middle of the table and the way his own ring glows with the same brightness. No awards or trophies could ever amount to the way Sicheng feels fulfilled right now; no applause or standing ovation could amount to the adoration Jaehyun’s eyes hold when he looks Sicheng’s way with that dimpled smile of his. It takes Sicheng’s breath away. Irrevocably, he is in love.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> i miss jaewin sm this is so sick and twisted 
> 
> the title is a bill evans piece (as always)


End file.
